Tree and Stone
by Lothithil
Summary: The Story of Legolas and Gimli. The birth of an unlikely and immortal friendship. Canon, or at least very close. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1 Prince of Leaves

**I**

**Prince of Leaves  
**  
Legolas walked the bridge that crossed the Forest River as it exited the caverns that made up his home and breathed deeply the pine and loam scent of the forest. A brief errand he would accomplish before setting out on his mission—for which he risked his father's wrath but cared not. Thranduil had never understood his son's need to visit the place where her monument stood.

"She is not there," he would say. "Why do you linger there, as if waiting? She will return from Mandos as she will. She is no longer your mother."

Legolas knew his father did not say these things to be cruel. Elves do not die; though their bodies can be killed their spirits remain, a collection of memories and wisdom to inhabit another body, in time. Such is the blessing and curse of immortality. Still, it had hurt to hear him speak so. The glade where her monument stood was a peaceful and beautiful place, and Legolas went there to think and reflect more than to mourn; he was long past grief for her, yet he missed her terribly. When _would_ she return? Would he ever come to know her again?

It was late autumn in Mirkwood and the trees that reflected the seasons were arrayed in splendid garments of orange, brown and yellow, red and gold. They gave dry whispers and fell singly to drift over the roots that gripped the earth in knotted fists. In Losingriol's Glade summer still lingered, leaves of green sighing as the wind moved the boughs lazily. A spring bubbled over a flat stone where many small white rocks had been carefully placed. It made a rill that trickled happily down into the earth where it was drank by the thirsty roots of the trees. A shaft of sunlight grew like a pillar in the center of the glade, permitted by the miserly foliage to nourish a bed of fragrant flowers. Legolas threw himself in the middle of that bed and daydreamed.

Horns calling from the bridge roused him from dreaming and he stopped briefly to drink from the spring before hastening back to the fortress. It was time to go. A long ride it would be to Rivendell, the House of Elrond Half-Elven, where he must bear tidings from his father to the Wise. Strange it seemed to send so many to deliver but a message, but in truth, Legolas looked forward to the adventure. Since the night of the orc attack when the prisoner had escaped, Legolas had watched the forest grow more perilous for his people. The spiders were agitated and orcs and wargs prowled. Northern Mirkwood was Thranduil's domain and no evil dwelled therein, but their borders were beset.

Legolas had not been on duty when Smeagol escaped, but he felt that he was responsible in some measure. He had implored his father to allow the creature to be brought out of the dungeons occasionally to feel the free air and see grass and trees, lest he fall back upon his dark ways. Little did he reckon the guile of Gollum, who wore two faces and spoke debatingly with one mouth. Pity for the wretched being had urged him to take a gentle hand, for perhaps someday it would remember kindness and forgo evil by choice.

Now the wretch was gone, aided of orcs who had slain his guards and spirited him away. A great hunt revealed that Smeagol had then eluded his orc confederates and disappeared westward. Legolas had taken satisfaction in wringing that truth from the orcs before they were dispatched to wherever darksome place the twisted spirits of orcs were bound. Now he felt that Mithrandir must know; some foresight or premonition came upon him so that he knew he had to go to Rivendell. He asked of his king for leave to bear the tidings.

Thranduil had given his leave reluctantly, but he too could see that Legolas must go. Three elves would go with him as escort, for it was to be assured that they would encounter danger. The forest must be crossed, and even by the Wood-elves' paths there would be peril, the valley of Anduin and the Great River to be forded, and then Hithiaglir lay across their path with its steep roads and narrow passes. All the land between crawled with every manner of foul creature; it was not a light journey nor a hopeful one. Legolas and his father both wondered how he would come to return. Still, less important it seemed to preserve an heir to a kingdom than to join in the resistance against the growing Shadow. If the Dark Lord won, all kingdoms would fall.

Legolas raced to where his companions were already mounted and waiting. "Let this journey be started and bring us home swiftly," he cried. "Already I miss the beeches. Their branches will be bare, leaves bud and renewed ere we return hither, I fear." Legolas leapt onto the padded back of Fëavano, a palomino stallion that had been a gift from his father. They had ridden many leagues together already.

"Is thy father not coming to bid thee farewell, my prince?" asked Finoglos. Baranhen and Randundo and he each bore bundles upon the backs of their horses, the goods and gear they would require for their journey.

Legolas checked his own gear, though he had packed it himself earlier and knew that all was in readiness; in spite of his bold words, he rather hoped that his father would appear to send him off.

The King had bid his son farewell the night before, when this errand had been appointed to him. "Look not for return paths until your errand is spent, my son," Thranduil had said. "Greenleaf, let not your hasty heart lead you on unnecessary paths. Rein in your impulsiveness and employ wisdom, if only this once in your long life." Though his words were stern his face was smiling, and he saluted his son and embraced him. Legolas had spent long hours in thought since that moment, traversing the terrain from ambition to reluctance. He knew that his path was laid now, and hesitating would only prolong his absence from his beloved forest.

"Come, kinsmen! Rivendell grows no closer lingering here! You shall all be watching Fëavano's tail for the length of this journey!" and he spoke to his horse a soft word and Fëavano sprang away as though in a race. His companions laughed and hurried after him.

In the watchtower above, a tall elf watched the four messengers ride away, a small smile soften the King's mouth with fondness, while on his noble brow a tale of worry was told.

⌂

The journey was indeed long and dangerous, but the Elves of Mirkwood travel well-equipped, are skillful and wood-crafty. Not until they were riding through the narrow pass cut high in the mountain did they come at last against an obstacle they could not outrun or cut down.

Legolas gritted his teeth and halted Fëavano. A group of Dwarves were in the road ahead of them. So narrow was the pass and treacherous that they could not ride past them. The Dwarves were aware of them and were careful not to stare back at the Elves, but seemed casually to be adjusting the lay of their baldrics and counting their axe handles. They moved steadily but slowly, and did not seem inclined to allow the Elves to pass round them.

Legolas sighed and dismounted. He wished not to speak to or confront any Dwarf, as he found them alien and incomprehensible. Better to let them go ahead and make the pass before them. Then they would cross and hope to find a way round once the mountains rose at their backs. Legolas had once tried to befriend Dwarves, seeking to understand their differences, as his mother had once instructed him; but always they were curt and unfriendly, and finally openly belligerent. That had been during the Battle of Five Armies, and Legolas remembered it well.

As usual, it had begun with an argument with his father...


	2. Chapter 2 Difficulty with Dwarves

**II**

**Difficulty with Dwarves **

_...sixty years earlier..._

Legolas was stunned. "My Lord, as captain of your guard, it is my job to follow you into battle. What have I done to earn this amercement?"

Thranduil looked at him, but did not see the captain of his guard. He saw only his son, the living memory of his wife whom he missed and loved still. He shut those feelings away; it would not do to have Legolas know that he grieved still, when Thranduil himself had chastised his son for visiting her monument. Nor would it be well for Legolas to learn that Thranduil feared for his son in battle. Elves should not feel these things; this was the weakness of Men and Peredhil.

"It is the captain of the guard's duty to perform the will of the king," said Thranduil. "And it is my will that you maintain the protection of this kingdom in my absence."

"This fortress can be defended by Finoglos or any other warrior with but a handful of Elves, my Lord," Legolas perceived his father's true feelings in spite of his impassive mask. "You dishonour me in this," he added quietly.

Thranduil turned away from Legolas. The dart had struck the mark. Softly he said, "This fighting is not for honour, but pride. All my army I would risk for it, but not my only son." The king gazed at the whorled fresco painted upon the walls of his chamber. He recalled that Losingriol had frequently complained about the lack of windows. He shook his head to clear away the sound of her voice. "If you had taken a wife and produced an heir..."

Legolas's word was hard and swift, "You are my king, lord, as well as my father but in this, I will be ruled by none. Let us not weary our hour with useless chewing of an old debate."

Thranduil sighed. Only once before had he met a spirit as stubborn as his son, and he loved her still. She walked the Hall of Memory in Mandos.

Legolas's heart burned. He knew that his father spoke with wisdom but his own pride was stirred. "I will do as you have dictated, my lord," he said with stiff dignity, "But when you return, we shall have further discourse." Legolas bowed to his king and left the chamber.

But Legolas had no intention of remaining behind while his father and the entire army went forth to war. Swearing Finoglos to secrecy, he disguised himself and went forth also, as a common soldier. He had obeyed Thranduil to the letter, for he appointed the best warriors to the protection of the fortress, and fortified all the watches and reserves. But he would not stay in the safety of stone while his people fought for their king; his king.

On the battlefield he had met a Dwarf, though the fighting was thick when the goblin army had descended, outnumbering the three armies of Elves, Men, and Dwarves. Together they had fought, against the black river of foes, Legolas with his back against the Dwarf's, until a mound of enemies lay slain at their feet.

When the battle had finally passed, Legolas went to compliment the Dwarf on his skill, but turning found that he had been slain by his last opponent; they lay locked together in death.

Legolas would then have grieved, but another Dwarf had appeared and threatened him.

"Scavenger!" the Dwarf had shouted, for Legolas had removed the Dwarf's armour to try to render him healing, however hopeless. "Carrion-crow! Leave the dead in peace and for his own people to mourn. I shall pay you in blood if you do not release him!"

Legolas had been so astonished that he had backed away, letting the hostile Dwarf tend his kindred. The blood that stained Legolas's hands had been as red as the blood shed by his own people.

He never learned the brave Dwarf's name.

⌂

_...High Pass, present year..._

Legolas laughed grimly as he stripped off woven blanket and headstall, giving his horse a rubdown while Fëavano nosed the grain that Baranhen had placed before him. The Elves tended their horses and took a small meal, killing time while the Dwarves took the pass.

Noise of steel on stone and cries alerted them and they ran swiftly toward the pass, spreading out and moving silent as intent shadows. Legolas and Fingolos took one side, Randundo and Baranhan the other and they came to the conflict through the rocks piled high around the pass. Below, the Dwarves were fighting against a large party of goblins, which numbered three times that of the Dwarves.

The Elves did not join the fighting however, because the Dwarves needed no help, even so outnumbered. They moved like spinning wheels of sharpened steel and the cries of fear and pain were uttered by the orcs. Half their number were felled in a thrice and the rest fled, gibbering.

One Dwarf who had caught Legolas's eye with his fierce offensive style, was bent over prying his axe from the cloven skull of one brute, when another orc raised himself from a pool of black blood and charged him with a scimitar held high. The other Dwarves saw this in a flash and cried out, but so quick was the orc that none could come between them.

Legolas did not hesitate; his bow was already drawn with arrow notched. He loosed the shaft and it sped truly, striking the left eye of the orc. It fell at the Dwarf's feet, who had just turned with his freed axe raised.

The Dwarf looked at the feathered shaft, and then raised his eyes to seek the shooter. He scanned the rocks from where the missile had come but could not spot the elves, clad in colours that harmonized with their surroundings, they could not be detected unless they desired to be seen.

On impulse, Legolas stood up and nodded to the Dwarf; the salute of an ally.

The features of the Dwarf were gathered in a scowl when he spotted the Elf. He raised a gauntleted fist and shook it at Legolas. "Dwarves do not need the help of Elves to fight their battles! That kill was mine!"

Legolas allowed his smile to remain on his face, though it faded in his heart. "Is this so? And what of Erebor, Dwarf? Did not the Elves serve you well on that field? Or was that before your time, shortbeard?"

The Dwarf's face grew red with fury at the insult and he might have tried to climb up the steep cliff to cleave the smile from Legolas's face, but for the hand of a Dwarf clad in white that took his arm. "Peace, son of Gloín! You do not thank your allies with steel."

To Legolas, the Dwarf bowed. "We appreciate your timely arrow, good Elf. We are used to taking care of ourselves, but it is a good thing to know that we have an ally unlooked-for."

To his son, Gloín spoke softly in an aside whisper, "Just because you shouldn't trust Elves, doesn't mean you should kill them!"

Gimli grunted and shouldering his axe, he turned his back on Legolas.

Legolas heard that whisper as clear as if it had been spoken in his own ear. He felt his ire fall from him, struck by the ridiculousness of the tableau. He saluted the Dwarf in white with a closed fist over his heart. The Dwarves gathered their equipment and continued their journey, leaving the orcs where they lay.

Legolas spoke to his companions. "Fetch the horses and follow swiftly. I will scout ahead and seek for ambushes. Perhaps those orcs have not given up completely." He went forward alone, wanting this chance to study the Dwarves more closely.


	3. Chapter 3 Greenleaf and Gollum

**III**

_Legolas Greenleaf has encountered a party of Dwarves traveling west on the path he and his companions are using to reach Rivendell. But Legolas has more on his mind than incomprehensible Dwarvish behaviour..._

The goblins seemed to have abandoned their quarry; Legolas could find no trace of them lingering in along the pass. He shadowed the Dwarves as they reached the summit and began their descent. Often they would raise their bearded heads and look about, sensing someone near but blind by the Woodelf's crafty skill. Legolas was an Elf of the woods, but he grew up and lived among stone and knew its ways and songs. He made no sound as he moved, so perhaps the Dwarves heard the rumour of him from the stone itself.

Behind, Legolas could hear the scrape of hooves on stone as Finoglos came at a pace, remaining just beyond eye-line of the Dwarves. Legolas ran lightly along the crest of a ridge as rough and sharp as a flint-point. He was outlined briefly against the brilliant sky, but he moved so swiftly that only a hawk could have espied him. Ahead of the Dwarves now, he settled down on his haunches and waited. The stones were cool in this high place but from between the cracks grew hearty grasses and here and there a small wind-bitten tree. Legolas brushed the wiry leaves of a sapling pine with his long fingers, smiling at the scent it left on his hands. A memory pulled at him and he followed it, his eyes alert on his surroundings but his mind traversing time and distance instantly.

**Greenleaf and Gollum**

"It is time to come down now, Smeagol. The moon will come out soon, and you will not be able to see to climb back down." Legolas slapped the bark of the tall pine tree. "Do not make me climb up there and fetch you again! Come down now and you will get fish for evening meal."

"_Fissssssh,_" came the answering voice, a soft hissing from above Legolas's head, closer than the Elf had guessed the sly creature had been. Out of the shining needles appeared a weathered face, still painfully thin-looking and greyish, as if a very old, very ill man were peering out of the treetops at him. Two large bulging eyes, pale and colourless, blinked at him. A long tongue appeared, swiping thin lips and small sharp teeth. "Fresssh fisssssh? Not ssscorched on nasssty tonguesss of flame?"

"I will catch it myself, if you come down now."

Smeagol twisted round quick as a flash and slid down the smooth bark to the forest floor, where he crouched at Legolas's feet. He knew better no than to try to escape from this Elf; he had tried many times and always Legolas had caught him swiftly and he was punished with the dark cell. He had come to enjoy climbing the tall trees of Mirkwood and feeling the free air. It was dark under the eaves of the trees, and the White and Yellow Faces did not trouble him as much here. He hated his cell but he was well fed and the Elves did not abuse him. When he misbehaved or bit his handlers he was left alone for long periods in the windowless cell. Smeagol had grown to prefer company.

"Smeagol catch fisssh?" Hopefully he looked up at Legolas's face, and then he looked swiftly away as if to hide the crafty gleam that lit within his eyes. He would indeed like to be let loose near the river for a while. Not even _this_ Elf could catch him then!

"No, Smeagol. I know very well your ability to swim. Aragorn has told me the tale of your meeting and I have not forgotten it." Smeagol hissed at the name of the Ranger; he rubbed his neck and scowled. "You would disappear and I would have to hunt you down. I would find you and take you to the top of the tallest tree in the forest. Then you would have to stay ever in your dark cell and never see trees again. Is that what you wish?"

When the Elves took Smeagol to see the trees, they made him wear a collar that bound him to his guard. Only Legolas did not use the collar, except when they returned to the Caverns. Only Legolas let him climb the trees, and Smeagol obeyed when Legolas told him to come, because once he had refused and Legolas had come up after him and dangled him by the foot for his disrespect.

"**No!** No, Smeagol will be good!"

Legolas took Smeagol back to his cell, promising again to bring a fresh fish for his supper. He had to laugh as he closed the door and locked it. The creature was repulsive, sly, dangerous, and wretched, but ingratiating in a strange way. He seemed so simple, almost innocent, until the strange light came into his eyes and his voice took on a different timbre. At night two distinct voices were sometimes heard by the guards, arguing fiercely, as if someone were in the room with him. Legolas knew Smeagol was like two beings in one body; one dark and evil, bent on lust for his "precious" and revenge on the thief who stole his treasure, and the other one fragile, confused, and pitiable; a small bent soul stretched beyond his years, alone in a wild wide world. Legolas looked upon him and knew pity.

Legolas went down to the Forest River, where the waters flow slowly through eddying pools beneath the shade of willows lining the banks, dragging their long fingers in the stream. He removed his gear and waded out, not feeling the icy cold of the waters. Large trout with speckled backs swam lazily against the current. Legolas lowered his hands slowly into the water, moving a fraction of an inch at a time, and waited with the patience of the Eldar for one large fish to swim through his fingers. He caught it as effortlessly as one might pluck an apple from a bough heavy with fruit, ripe and sweet. He hooked a finger into a gill, and then he caught a second one for himself, one-handed. Fish did sound good for supper, but Legolas preferred his cooked… yes, precious!

When he returned to the dungeons he heard voices as he approached Smeagol's cell. The guard on duty was listening, his ear pressed to the crack between door and wall. He waved for Legolas to come and hear; his face showed distaste and wonder.

Legolas listened, and he heard clearly a debate raging on the far side of the stone door. Smeagol was arguing with himself again… and it sounded like he was losing.

"_Mussst_ be away. _Musssst_ find IT.We _needsss_ the preciousss," a cold, venomous voice demanded.

"We can't get away," the answering voice came softer, less syllabant. "Elves always watching. Their eyes are bright and their feet swift. The rope bites us!"

"Away, away, we _mussst_ get away! Get to the river, get to the trees... they will hide us and we can get away from them all."

"They are looking for us. **HE** is looking for us! Go away! go away go away!" Smeagol's voice rose to a pathetic shriek; a child having nightmares from which there was no waking. Legolas motioned for the guard to open the door. The guard looked doubtful but obeyed.

As the key clicked in the lock, the voices fell silent within. Smeagol ceased his weeping. "Fisssshess?"

"Here, Smeagol. I have kept my promise," Legolas said. He laid both fish on the floor of Smeagol's cell and then exited swiftly. The guard locked the door as he emerged.

Legolas shook his head in pity and sorrow. "He is beyond all healing, I fear. Would that death might grant him some peace… I would slay him myself if he were not so ruined and wasted; he would but continue to wander as a ghost of desire."

The guard shuddered, pocketing the key. "At least bound in his flesh, he cannot yet walk through stone."

"No, not unless he knows some Dwarvish tricks!"

⌂

This thought brought Legolas back to the present with a jolt. The mystery still nagged at him. He was never very good at riddles, being more skilled in weapons and archery. But very much did he wish to learn **how** those 12 Dwarves had escaped from his father's dungeons that night some years ago… and **who** had placed the black mushroom draught in his wine.

Movement below attracted his gaze, and he saw that the Dwarves were moving slowly now, talking over-loud. One was missing from their number, and Legolas laughed as he heard the clear sounds of soft footsteps approaching his hiding place. He waited until the Dwarf was nearly standing on him before he spoke softly. "This spot is taken, Dwarvish scout."

Gimli turned sharply, his gleaming axe mere inches from Legolas's face. Or rather, where his face _had been_. With a smooth motion Legolas had moved himself beyond the Dwarf's reach. He allowed himself a mocking smile as the Dwarf started and grumbled, "Skulking elf! We are weary of your eyes on our backs, waiting for the bite of your arrows! Come out and be seen."

"I have my own people to look out for, Dwarf," answered Legolas coolly. "The orcs may linger in these rocks. I will not make the mistake of saving your life again, since it seems to mean so little to you. You need not fear me, Gloín's son. I have no quarrel with you."

Gimli's eyes found him at last, leaning against a boulder nearby. He lowered his axe and looked the Elf up and down. He set the haft of his axe on the ground and leaned against it like a prop. "No quarrel? Do you not remember the faces of your prisoners? You kept my father locked in a cell like a dog, and yet expect me to have no quarrel with you?"

"Your father?" Legolas's curiosity was piqued. Here, perhaps, were some answers he had longed to hear. Unfortunately, they were locked behind the lips of a disgruntled Dwarf.

Gimli tugged on his beard in frustration. "My father! Do you have no memory? One of Thorin's companions that you cruelly detained from their journey of vengeance. Tell me, do you often imprison folk for the crime of being lost and starving in the forest?"

"Not often," responded Legolas. "Only when they attack my people and draw down the fury of spiders on helpless merrymakers. But I am glad that you have told me. I have long wondered how he managed his wondrous escape, he and his companions?"

Gimli's beard twitched; a smile could be seen through the red plaits. "It is said that Elves like riddles."

"Aye, that is true." Legolas allowed hopefully.

"Well, I guess that this is one of them!" And the Dwarf turned and walked away, his axe over his shoulder and a smirk of satisfaction on his face, not at all concealed by his beard.

Legolas watched him walk away, torn between frustrated curiosity and wry humour. Dwarves were strange folk indeed.


	4. Chapter 4 Imladris

**IV**

**Imladris**

Coming down out of the mountains at last, the air and seasons seem to turn back to summer. Trees and grass are full and green and the wind is soft and warm and fragrant. The path broadens through the foothills and Legolas can hold back the horses no more than their riders. They fly around the Dwarven party and race toward the inviting green cleft of Imladris.

The Last Homely House East of the Sea was not visible but for a few tendrils of smoke rising from the valley below. Legolas could hear the singing of his kindred on the gentle wind and his heart swelled with a desire to join their sweet voices. He forgot his game of dwarf-baiting and let Fëavano gallop.

A tricky path leads to Rivendell. Legolas slowed his horse and signaled for his companions to be cautious. What had looked like a leveled valley between the toes of the mountain was in fact a ravine covered with trees, the path leading downward into the heart of the cloven stone. There they found a huge house or series of houses joined by arched paths and rope bridges and surrounded and dissected by many waterfalls. It was a beautiful place, and a stronghold that could be defended easily; the approach was narrow and well covered with guardians. Legolas saluted them as he rode past.

The singing changed into a song of welcome. Word had gone ahead that they were come. However, only one figure waited on the steps of the house when they arrived.

Tall and serene, he greeted the travelers with solemn warmth, "Welcome to Rivendell, my kindred from the Greatwood. I am Erestor. Lord Elrond sends you his greetings and begs you forgive him for not meeting you personally. An urgent matter has detained him. When he can, he will bring you his own greeting. He bade me meet the son of Thranduil and offer him the hospitality of Imladris."

"And he accepts your offer, Lord Erestor." Legolas dismounted and bowed to the Elf. "Surely it has not been so long since you visited our kingdom that you do not remember me?"

Erestor thawed a smile for the greenelf. "Of course I remember you, Legolas. You have become the image of your father so that I nearly believed he had come to Rivendell himself. But for your hair that is your mother's gift, I would not have known you."

"She was of the house of Finrod, she told me, before she became enamoured of my father's dark humour," Legolas smiled though his heart pained him to speak of his mother. He had not expected to find her memory in Imladris.

"Let us speak of such things in their time, Prince Legolas," said Erestor. Grooms came forward and took their horses, removing their goods and taking them inside the house. "Come with me now and find rest and refreshment. A long journey you have endured and soon we will have more company. A party of Dwarves comes down the East road to scatter your trail."

"Aye, we passed them on this side of the mountains. A strange coincidence that they have come hither the same hour as we, I am thinking," said Legolas, but Erestor made no comment. His face had fallen back into an icy mask. Legolas and his escort followed him into the house.

Upon entering, Legolas was immediately struck with the atmosphere of the place, peaceful and homely but with a strong undercurrent of anticipation. Something was occurring or soon would occur, and there was hope and hopelessness warring in the very spirits of the wind. Legolas halted, and Erestor turned to him.

"What you feel is that which had detained Lord Elrond from greeting you. All morning this day he has struggled in healing. Some have doubts that his efforts will be successful… and some wonder if they should be. Dark times are ahead for all Free People, my woodland friend. And now, in this place, many things will be decided. Please, come this way."

They climbed a wide stair and came to a wing of the house that swept over the pool which was fed by a chattering fall of water. The wood elves were given rooms for their use that were not so much decorated as overgrown, with fir trees and fragrant juniper boughs. With the water and the green smell they each felt as if they were at home again.

"Rest now, friends, and come to the Hall when you have stomach. A meal is served at six bells, but food is available at all times for travelers. I will leave you now."

"Lord Erestor," Legolas called to him and he paused in the doorway. "I have an urgent message for Lord Elrond. If he cannot hear me, perhaps I could speak with Lord Mithrandir?"

Erestor's face became yet more grave. "They labour together as we speak, my Prince. Keep your message until the council that will be held when Lord Elrond appoints it. For good or ill, after this battle is fought, there will be much to hear and much to tell. Peace now, my friends." He turned and left.

"What is the meaning of all this, my Prince?" asked Finoglos. He was unbuckling Legolas's quiver and helping him out of the harness. He handed the weapons to Randundo who would clean and oil the blades and re-string and resin the bow. Baranhan was laying out clean garments for him and bidding him to remove his travel-stained ones.

Legolas refused. "I want to go and make sure that Fëavano is well tended. Rest and seek nourishment. I will return soon." He left his companions and retraced his steps to the front entrance.

Passing a doorway near the entrance, he heard soft weeping and saw within a small chamber three beds where lay diminutive creatures, each looking weary as if they had just come from a long hazardous journey. One was soundly asleep, but the other two were awake. A stout brown-skinned halfling was steadying his companion who wept upon his shoulder. They had bandages on their feet and great heaviness on their hearts. The halfling raised his eyes to meet Legolas's own; clear and dark and full of determination. Legolas felt as if he had reached out and touched him with that glance. The Elf pressed an open hand over his heart and bowed to him.

Merry noted the Elf's presence but said nothing to Pippin, who he was hoping would fall asleep again as soon as he stopped crying. He felt like crying himself, but he could not yet. Frodo had to survive. He just _**had**_ to... after they had come so far together. He acknowledged Legolas's salute with a slight nod, and then he patted Pippin gently on the back and murmuring in his ear comfortingly.

He wondered who would be there to comfort him when he could hold back his tears no longer.


	5. Chapter 5 Ringbearer

**V**

**Ringbearer**

Legolas left the house and followed the hoof prints that led toward the level floor of the valley. He could smell horses and wildflowers, grain and straw. A stable stood beneath the eaves of a grove of trees, and many horses wandered free on the grass there. Fëavano cantered up to him, nuzzling him for the apple he smelled in his pocket. Legolas laughed and gave it to him. He had been tended well; his coat gleamed and his hooves were clean. Fëavano allowed him to check each hoof, then he flicked his tail over Legolas's head and trotted away to sport with the other horses. Legolas smiled and watched him play for a long while.

Turning back to the house, he espied an Elf in the stable, grooming a beautiful white horse. He was speaking softly to the beast as he combed out the tangled mane. Both groom and horse looked as though they were on the edge of exhaustion, but they supported each other's weariness. Legolas did not interrupt them. He hoped that he could speak with this Elf later; he looked familiar.

As he returned to the house, he saw that the Dwarves had finally arrived, and Erestor was there greeting them with the same solemn countenance he had offered the Green Elves. Gloín was speaking for the Dwarves, asking that the Lord Elrond make himself available at the earliest possible time. As Erestor was explaining that he could not come, a small individual came out of the house.

"Gloín! You look magnificent!" spoke the halfling. He walked right up to the dwarf and shook his hand warmly. To Legolas's surprise, the Dwarf laughed and embraced the little one.

"Bilbo Baggins! You look the same as ever you did! Still alive and working? I did not hope to find you here!"

Bilbo laughed, patting Gloín's shoulder. Legolas could see that he was older that the other halflings he had earlier observed. His hair was nearly white and his face was wrinkled like a winter apple. His eyes and voice were merry, but the Elf could see a hint of worry in his face, like a shadow. "Not working, no! I am retired, don't you know? But I find this place a good one for resting and for writing in my book… when there aren't noisy guests around to disturb me!"

Gloín laughed and bowed, and introduced Bilbo to the dwarves behind him. Legolas heard him name his son at last: Gimli.

Erestor watched the scene with an expression of patient wariness. He was in fact relieved that Bilbo had appeared. The Dwarves were now less irritable and caustic. When they had exhausted their greetings and bowing, he showed them into the house. Legolas noted with a degree of relief that their rooms were some distance from his own.

He re-entered the house and looked in again upon the halflings. All were asleep now, worn and weary with travel and worry. Legolas wondered what strange events had brought them from whatever strange land they dwelled in. He had heard of them only as a distant rumour. Had not a halfling been involved in the slaying of Smaug the Dragon? Legolas wondered if there was any connection. Surely that halfling could have lived this long... that had been merely 60 years ago.

Legolas sighed and rubbed his forehead. More riddles! As if he did not have enough on his mind!

As he turned to go, he heard his name spoken softly. From within the room where the halflings slept came a Man that Legolas knew. His joy in seeing him was very great. He embraced Aragorn warmly and silently they withdrew a distance so as not to disturb the sleepers.

"I had hoped to find you here, Aragorn," Legolas said. "Though my message is dark and locked behind my lips for Elrond's ears, still I am pleased to see you."

"And I, you, Thranduilion," answered Aragorn in his soft voice. "I would speak with you longer, my friend, but I need to check on my charge. My heart cannot rest until I learn of his condition."

"Did you come hither with the halflings? I wondered at them, seeing their weariness. What has driven so many so far, and at such desperation? Must I wait for this council to learn what has occurred?"

"Come with me Legolas, and some answers you may find." Aragorn led him down a corridor that came to a clean room where a gathering of folk were standing around a table. Mithrandir was there, and Elrond also, bent over the table with an intent expression on his noble face. When one of the elves moved to fetch a basin of water for Elrond Legolas saw what he was so intent about, and his heart leapt in his chest in pity.

A halfling lay on the table. He had dark hair and pale, translucent skin. He lay motionless, and his blood was bright red as it soaked the white linens. His shoulder had been cruelly pierced and Elrond was carefully exploring the wound as if looking for something. Legolas marveled that the tiny creature was still alive. He seemed to be on the very threshold of death, his spirit flickering like a waning star.

Legolas did not know this halfling, had not yet even learned his name, but he was suddenly filled with compassion for him and a desperate desire for him to survive. He turned to Aragorn and saw his feeling mirrored in the Ranger's dark features.

Aragorn motioned for him to come out from the room. In the corridor, Aragorn gave Legolas a brief tale about his coming to Rivendell, and also the name of the halfling that lay within. When he ceased speaking, the Elf gripped the Man's shoulder firmly.

"Brother, you have done a wondrous deed! You must rest also, for you are weary beyond your endurance. Frodo Baggins has Elrond and Gandalf with him… he will survive. Go and get you rest!"

Aragorn nodded and left, but Legolas remained outside of the chamber where the battle was still being fought. He could not leave, but stood and pondered his riddles and as he watched Lord Elrond work, he prayed to Elbereth to protect the brave little halfling who had stolen his heart.


	6. Chapter 6 Son of Stone

**VI**

_Okay, we have had the story from the Elven point of view, but what about the Dwarves? We need some equal opportunity musing here! Let not the Son of Gloín's story go unheralded longer! But now we must change our heads a little. What does go on under that artfully-etched helmet?_

**Son of Stone**

The wind was biting on the eastern face of the mountain. The clear air was full of the smell of snow and ore and granite. Gimli breathed a great lung-full of it; it was very refreshing.

So far this adventure had been rather tame, he reflected as he walked alongside his father. When they had been sent off from the Lonely Mountain, they had been warned of dangers at every bank and boulder. Gimli could not see what everyone had been so worried about. They had seen a couple of largish spiders who had fled the torch that Gimli waved toward their webs. They smelled wolf a couple of times, but that was not unusual in Erebor in the autumn. Bandits were too impressed by the arms and armour of their well-equipped group to be tempted by the wealth they sported, and not a sign so far of goblins high or low. Gimli was beginning to feel a little disappointed. If Gloín had told him that they would be taking a long peaceful walk to see a bunch of lay-about elves, Gimli might have suggested his father to go on without him!

The Dwarf chuckled at his own thoughts. Of course he would have come regardless... Gloín and he were a team. Even if this Rivendell place lay on the far side of the Misty Mountains, still they had come more than half the distance already and were unscathed. Climbing a mountain would not qualify as a difficulty to any _real_ dwarf.

The Misty Mountains were a great barrier of lofty peaks riddled with lesser piles and precipices, breaks and saddles of rock like curtains sweeping green with fir. There were ribboned with valleys and ravines, marching endlessly toward the north and south beyond the eyes' stretch. Sharp, steep and wild, even this path that was well worn through the mountain pass. Rockslides were not uncommon and often they came to places where the road had been washed away or had broken off and fallen like tears down the mountain's face.

Still, this no hardship for a dwarf worth his metal, thought Gimli. No very treacherous places had they yet come to, and he was beginning to think that if they had chosen to bring ponies to ride, the journey might have actually been rather relaxing.

Gimli heard the sound of hoof beats then, as if in answer to his thought. He turned and cast his long sight behind them, hailing the other dwarves who had not heard the sound yet. "Horses behind!" He freed his long-handled axe and shaded the noon sun from his eyes. Noting the aspect and effects of the riders, his face clouded with dislike. "Elves! Party of four on riding horses, father," he said.

"Well, I hope they are not in a hurry," said Gloín, directing the troupe to proceed with the climb. "We are nearly at the pass, and there is no room for them to ride around us. We were here first and we will cross first. The tolls that the Beornings charged us to use this road are high enough that we have the rights."

The dwarves grumbled and agreed, glancing darkly back and returning to their steady pace. Gimli stood for a while staring back then turned and joined Gloín again. As he walked, he loosened his axes in their sheaths of leather and steel and flexed his mighty arms beneath the ringed mail he wore.

Gimli did not like elves. He had many reasons, founded in history and harder than granite to argue with. Firstly, as a dutiful son, he resented the imprisonment of his father and companions by the Elves of Mirkwood. He had heard the tale more often than he could recount, and ever the reasoning seemed petty and unfounded for their debasement. Also, Elves had long been mistrusted by his people, since before Khazad-dum had been lost. Elves had made crafty things, objects of power that were now only whispered of, and they had misused them and caused much trouble in the world.

A typical elvish trick, to take an ingot of fair metal or a finely cut jewel and corrupt it into a ring or an item of sorcery. Gimli blamed elves for perverting the art of crafting. How many Dwarven smiths had died with their secrets when the Dark Lord had come for his Rings? All their lore lost and whole families ended... a disaster to rival dragons any day!

Though a great gulf of time opened between these deeds and Gimli's own birth (he was nearly 140 years old now, in his prime of life) he held it close to his heart and vowed to trust no elf nor traffic with one, if ever this could be avoided.

Now he was heading into a nest of them, and if that weren't bad enough they were being followed by four more. Wood elves by their dress, but Gimli cared not. And elf was an elf, and each as guilty as the rest for the crimes of their kin. Did they not live forever? Could one of these following be one who had actually stood in Khazad-dum in the height of Durin's glory; knowledge and vision no dwarf can now claim? It seemed a cruel irony to Gimli, and it enraged his heart. He cast more frequent scowls behind them, as the elves drew closer and slowed their horses, unable now to travel faster than the foot-speed of a dwarf.

After a time the elves fell back and Gimli breathed a sigh. When they all finally left Middle earth for good, then the world would be a better place, he thought to himself.

A nugget of ice that lay deep in his heart spread a chill through his limbs as he recalled a voice; a voice murmuring within his own head that no one else could hear...

_"Once you said not such things, Gimli Gloín's son..."_

….. **seventy years ago, Ered Luin** …..

Gimli had been angry when his father had refused his request to join Thorin's company. He was _**not**_ "too young", and Gloín's argument that he was his only son and both of them could not be risked in this venture fell deaf on his ears. Infuriated by being left behind, he was determined to follow them until he caught them up, and then they would be force to allow him to come along.

Instead, he got lost in the winding willow-lands that rotted the foothills of the Blue Mountains. He despaired completely of finding their trail and had finally turned to try to go home when he had met his first Elf.

Her name had been—simply—El.

⌂

El had found him wandering near exhaustion, foodless and shelterless in a wild land. She had taken him to her home, a humble cave burrowed in a hill but warm and dry and snug. She fed him pine seeds and wild rice, sweet cresses and fresh fish until he was strong again. He remained past his recovery to learn of her, for she was quiet and lovely and simple and yet seemed higher of purpose than anyone he had ever met before. He dreaded returning home to the shame of his failure, not so much worried about the ire of his mother as loss of face to the other young dwarves he had bragged to about following Thorin. It was quiet and peaceful in the willow valley, and the summer leaked away and autumn blew past, and then winter came to freeze his heart.

She packed her few small things and bid him farewell. He would not walk with her to the Havens, though they were a few short leagues away. He asked her not to go, to remain and teach him more of the ways of birds and trees. He begged her to stay for him, because he cared about her and had no other friend. He became stubborn and insisted, claiming that he could not find his way without her help.

She merely smiled and laid a white hand on his head, leaned down to kiss his cheek crimson with choler and his eyes wet with sorrow. Then she had turned and joined the group of elves who had appeared to collect her, to make their way to the Sea and the grey ship that waited for them. Gimli watched them until they disappeared; she never turned and looked back toward him, not once.

That was the day he began to hate elves.

…..** present day, High Pass** …..

It had been a pleasant journey—until those blasted elves showed up. He might have known they'd disappeared as soon as trouble showed its face. The melee with the orcs had almost been a relief; Gimli had a lot of frustrated anger to work off, and two score of goblins was just the cure he had needed.

He would have accounted half of the goblins himself, but for the interference of that skulking elf. His arrow had cheated him of his proudful score and he was genuinely annoyed, (though a wiser part of him was rather shaken) that the goblin had not been as dead as it was supposed to be when Gimli had turned his back. It had been a close shave!

But indebted to an Elf? Gimli would never admit such a debt, nor give thanks for such. He rather resented that Gloín spoke to him so, though he understood the need to maintain relations with them as allies. Elves could be useful, when they were interested in helping.

At least Gimli had gotten the satisfaction of hearing the Elf ask for something Gimli had the power to withhold. That shred of happiness buoyed him throughout the rest of the journey, until they came down from the comfort of the mountains to the overgrown crevice of Rivendell.

There was no further incident. The Elves now trailed the Dwarves closely, riding their horses and talking in Elvish, sometimes singing. Any noise they made, be it merry or morose, irritated the Dwarves. Gimli walked steadily, trying to ignore the noisy, frivolous elves. Did they not know or did they choose to not remember the goblins that had attacked and fled? Gimli was sure that they would disappear again should they come again with reinforcements.

Gimli turned his head and glared back at the tag-alongs, but when he saw the face of the Elf he had spoken to, he recalled again the puzzlement and frustration in that fair face. Gimli allowed a grin to spread beneath his beard, and he nearly laughed when Legolas perceived him and frowned back. He lengthened his stride but slowed his steps, and began singing a Dwarvish song, encouraging his fellows to join him. He drowned out the delicate music of the Elves' voices, his brassy baritone echoing off of the stones around and below them. The mountains sang with the Dwarves this day.

As the valley finally came into sight, after winding through the last few miles of stone, the Elves greeted the sight of the woods and green vale with words of joy and relief. The Dwarves paused in their march and turned, saluting the mountain that they had just traversed with respect.

Now the path spread wide, and there was ample room for the Elves to ride around the slow moving Dwarven party. The Elves remained behind them for a while, but the music of the valley of Imladris was intoxicating to them, and they longed to ride ahead and drink its peace. They finally let their horses take their heads, breaking into a run down the steep road.

As they flew past the Dwarves, Gimli's Elf offered a salute to him. Gimli repeated his earlier salute, shaking a fist and scowling. He waved a hand before his face as the dust of the horses settled on his beard. _Cursed, troublesome Elves!_

The Elves let their mounts take them speedily toward the Last Homely House nestled in the valley below. As the last rays of the setting sun was glimmering on the white turret of the tower of Elrond's observatory, the Dwarves came in their own time to Imladris. Gimli wondered what would be waiting for them there: aid, as his father had hoped to find, or a refuge for fleeing elves, too engrossed in escape to help the People that they had for so long claimed to befriend?

Gimli tightened his grip on his axe handle and walked on toward the setting sun.


	7. Chapter 7 Rivendell

**VII**

**Rivendell**

Coming down from the comfort of the mountain to the valley, Gimli stared in wonder at Rivendell. In tomes of history kept by the Kings Under the Mountain, Gimli had read that the stronghold of Imladris had withstood sieges by the Dark Lord's marauding hoards for centuries.

This place looked as though it could not withstand a strong breeze. It appeared nothing more than a largish hall or two, connected to dozens of fragile-looking gazebos by ropes and bridges of wood. All the good stone was set about the foundations, overrun with water, and all the towers half screened and overgrown with ivy. He had expected a bastion of stonework, sculpted by a millennia of idle elvish hands—but impressive and daunting. This runaway garden made him feel nervous.

By the time he and his companions reached the floor of the valley, Gimli's opinion of Rivendell was changed; they passed a number of cunningly hidden guards, and many which Gimli knew were there but could not see. The forging of this retreat was well-founded, and now within the borders of the place he could discern the defenses; narrow bridges, steep approaches, and many more things that would make Gimli hesitate, if he were planning an assault on this place. Grudgingly—he had to admit to himself that Rivendell was indeed a safe and steady place.

When he saw the Elf standing on the steps of the Great Hall waiting to greet them, he thought for an instant that is was his skulking wood elf changed into finer garments. But it was not so. This Elf was taller, his hair longer and silver rather than light gold, and his eyes were grey. He was dressed in some flowing fabric set with delicate stones faceted to throw light. Gimli restrained himself from coming closer than necessary, though he wanted more than anything to examine more closely this strange garment and its fair decoration.

The Elf welcomed them formally, introducing himself as Erestor of the House of Finrod. Gimli half-listened to his speech; he had spotted the troublesome wood elf lurking in the bushes near a path leading through the trees, spying on them. Gimli had good sight and better hearing than most Dwarves. He said nothing but kept an eye on the elf, while Gloín spoke to Erestor and asked to see Elrond immediately; after all, had they not made a long dangerous journey to speak to him?

The elf began to make excuses, and Gimli felt his blood rising. This was an insult to his father, he was sure. But before he could build up a spleen, a small figure like a grey-haired child came out of the house, and his father shouted with joy and embraced him. Gimli was too surprised to stay angry.

Bilbo Baggins, the legendary burglar! Gimli wondered what he was doing here in Rivendell, and then he wondered again how old the hobbit must be now. He looked old, but not nearly as old as he ought! Intrigued, he followed Gloín and the others into the house to listen to Bilbo's words, forgetting entirely the elf that was watching them.

The tall elf led them to a suite of chambers full of furnishings and niceties suitable for the height and needs of Dwarves. The walls of the rooms were striated rock, layered in colours and glittering crystals washed naturally from the mountainside by the rushing waters. There was a roaring fire warming the rooms and food on a table. Erestor excused himself, leaving them in Bilbo's care.

Gimli was too interested in what the hobbit and his father were saying to be annoyed at the lack of meat and beer. He wolfed down two sweet apples and half a loaf of buttered bread with honey as while listening to Gloín and Bilbo speak of old times.

The aged hobbit was a marvel to the young dwarf. The numbers in his head told him that Bilbo had to be more than 120 years old—which was not old at all for a Dwarf—but old indeed for a hobbit. He looked somewhat more than half that age, robust and energetic yet, but with greying hair and many laugh-wrinkles around his eyes.

But those eyes were now tired and reddened, and as Gimli watched he realized that Bilbo was nervous or deeply worried about something. His eyes darted to the doorway whenever anyone walked past. He fidgeted, putting his hand into his pockets as if searching for something. Then he would smooth the fabric of his clothes, tugging at the edge of his embroidered silk waistcoat, and check his pockets again. He seemed unaware of the movement.

Finally the two old friends fell into an awkward silence. Bilbo was staring out of the window, his thoughts far away. Gloín placed a callused hand gently on Bilbo's shoulder. "What is the care that burdens you, my friend? Will you not speak of it to me?"

To both Gloín and Gimli's surprise, Bilbo burst into tears. He turned away swiftly, but his dignity was gone. His shoulders stooped; he seemed bowed with sudden age and despair.

Gimli felt very uncomfortable, but Gloín cared nothing for manful appearances. He sent all the dwarves into another room except for Gimli; he instructed his son to bring them wine. Bilbo was a friend through dangers and dragons and dungeons, and Gloín would not turn away from him. He set Bilbo down in a chair and put a goblet in Bilbo's shaking hand and helped him drink. Then he sat nearby and waited patiently for Bilbo to talk again.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Gloín," Bilbo said when he had recovered himself sufficiently to speak. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, clearing his throat. "It's my nephew, you see. He has only just arrived in Rivendell... that is where Lord Elrond is now; why he could not meet you himself. He..." Bilbo had to take another gulp of wine before he could say, "He's been badly wounded, my Frodo lad. Elrond and Gandalf... are trying to save his life."

Gloín rocked back in his chair, his face written with horror and grief. He said, "Bilbo, I have often sworn my service to you and your family, as you have to mine. We are as a family now, so your grief is mine also! You should be with him, not here gossiping with an old friend."

Bilbo smiled a sad, grateful smile. "There is nothing I can do but sit and hold his hand. I feel so helpless... at least here I could do a small service, see you comfortable and explain why Elrond could not come. I asked him if I could do this for him. Seeing you and your son," Bilbo rose and bowed to Gimli, who hastened to return the bow and pledge of service, "Seeing you both has been a pleasure in a dark hour, but I must get back to him now. If I can do no more than hold his hand and pray, then that I will do. Good-bye for now, my good Dwarves! It is good to see you again, Gloín, whatever the circumstances. Gimli, I am glad I have finally gotten to meet you. You are a son that any Dwarf or Hobbit would be proud to claim. I shall see you both at mealtime, unless..." and Bilbo's weak smile faded and he turned away hastily. Gloín tugged on his beard, his face anxious.

Gimli stared after the hobbit, wondering at his own feelings which were all in turmoil now. Gimli took his father's comment to heart; any friend of Gloín's was a friend of Gimli. Bilbo was family, and so this Frodo was family, too. He turned to Gloín, who was now looking into the heart of the fire. He asked, "What is the meaning of this, father? We have come to speak in the council, and Bilbo and Gandalf are both here. Mirkwood Elves have come and Bilbo's nephew; what strange occurrences are coming together? Why now and why here?"

Gloín looked at his son with sharp appraisal. "You speak with wisdom, son. Great things seem to have been set in motion, and we have walked into the center of a storm. Let us hope for Frodo's recovery, if only to soothe the heart of Bilbo. It ruins me to see him so full of despair."

"How did he come to be wounded? He should have had a Dwarf with him! If I were there, I would have protected him with my life." Gimli knew his words were true; he felt a kinship with the halfling who he had never seen before, a strange bond almost as strong as he had to his blood-kin. "If ever he goes forth again, even upon return to the Shire, I shall lend him my axe and the hand that wields it, and see him safe wherever he is bound."

Gloín laid his hand on Gimli's shoulder. "You are a son for which a father can be proud! Let us rid ourselves of our road-gear and see if there is anything we can do to help Bilbo and Frodo. I fear the council will be delayed if Elrond is busy, but I do not begrudge it now! Rivendell is a pleasant house, for all the strange architecture and drafty gardens. You need to eat and rest, and so do I, or we'll be of no use to anyone."

Gimli obeyed his father, but once they were bathed and fed and he lay on his firm mattress, trying to sleep, he found that he could not rest his mind.

He rose quietly, going as soft as he could from the chamber, and walked down the hall. Sconces holding candles of beeswax lit the corridor dimly, shedding circles of yellow light that brushed one another like frozen ripples on the surface of a pond. Gimli paused and listened; beneath the ever-present murmur of water the steady stone foundation of Rivendell carried to him the sound of voices speaking softly. He followed that sound.

His trail led back to the entrance hall and down another corridor, lit sparingly by more yellow candles. Darkened doorway opened to right and left and smaller hallways beckoned, but he stayed on his path, for the voices were becoming clearer.

Elvish words, he guessed. He knew a few words and phrases in Elvish, enough to understand simple things. These words buzzing in his ears were not understandable to Gimli, so he reckoned that they must be an ancient tongue. He stepped carefully, making no noise until he come to the end of the corridor, and found a brightly lit room where many elves were gathered.

He froze, not able to come any closer. Few candles lit the room, but it blazed with light nevertheless, as if the stars and moon had come into the house and settled there. The faces of the elves present were lit as if from within, and they were fair and solemn and intent. They seemed gathered around a table or a high bed. He could not see what the object of their attention was at first. He saw Gandalf there, and Bilbo was next to him, standing on a stool between the Wizard and an elf. He was holding a hand, a small hand like his own but white and limp and lifeless seeming, belonging to someone who lay on the table. Gimli felt a lump form in his throat, and it sank down to his heart.

A slight movement caught his eye, and he turned to find his wood elf sitting in the sill of the window that opened out over the moon-lit waterfalls. Gimli felt a flash of his former anger, but it paled against the anxiety he felt for Bilbo's nephew. The face of the Elf carried none of the aloofness or enmity from earlier that day. He looked worried and anxious also, as if his heart was as knotted and sharp as Gimli's own. He said nothing, just sat and watched.

Unable to help and uncomfortable under the eye of Legolas, Gimli returned to his chamber and lay awake, wondering what would happen next.


	8. Chapter 8 Round One

**VIII**

_What happens when you leave a frustrated Elf and hot-headed Dwarf alone with each other in Rivendell? Lock up the silverware and stand back... _

_Today's musing co-stars Halavana's "Morfindel" from Barad Lomin,  
used with permission and returned with many thanks! (((Halavana and Morfindel)))_

**Legolas and Gimli: Round One **

The next morning, Bilbo appeared to bring the Dwarves to breakfast. He seemed to have found some rest, for he looked less tired if no less worried. In answer to their questions he said softly that there was no change yet in Frodo's condition, and then he coughed and smiled weakly and asked if they were hungry. He led them to a wide hall where smells of food were wonderful in the crisp morning air. Bilbo brought Gloín and Gimli to a table where two young hobbits were seated, both picking over their meals in a half-hearted manner.

"These are my cousins come from the Shire. This is Mr. Peregrin Took, my second cousin twice removed on my mother's side and my third cousin… well, you don't really want to know about that," Bilbo chuckled and introduced the other hobbit, "Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin's first cousin and Frodo's second. We are all a big family, aren't we, lads?" The hobbits rose and bowed politely, and when Bilbo introduced the Dwarves, they looked upon Gloín with awe and bowed again.

"Often has our cousin Bilbo told us the tale of his Adventures, but never had I hoped to meet any of his companions," said Meriadoc. "I think we never more than half-believed him, before we left the Shire. But when I saw the stone trolls, I can tell you… I became a believer!" Merry's voice was cheerful, though he was still marked with weariness and care. His and Pippin's feet were wrapped with bandages and their faces were hollow and drawn.

Merry asked them to please join their table. Pippin smiled gently as he scooted over to make room. He looked very tired and his eyes were reddened as if from little sleep or tears. He pushed his food around on his plate, and though Bilbo urged him to eat he seemed to have no appetite.

Gimli realized that they must have seen many dreadful things on their dangerous journey. He felt moved to ease their hearts. He sat next to Pippin and poured a mug-full of buttermilk. Lifting it to his lips, he enacted as if he were having difficulties drinking because of his beard. "How I envy you hobbits," he said in a mirthful voice, "If I try to drink, I shall end up with more on my beard than in my mouth! It is like trying to eat through a bush!" Pippin smiled, and he laughed a little as Gimli speared a biscuit and made a show of carving it with a knife so that he could fork it into his mouth. Merry began to chuckle. Soon both hobbits had cleaned their plates, demonstration to Gimli how to eat and perhaps he should consider drawing his milk through a hollow straw?

After the meal, the hobbits grew sleepy and Bilbo asked the Dwarves to help him get them back to their room. They leaned on Gimli and Gloín, limping on their sore feet. Gimli would have carried Pippin, but the look of pride and determination on the young Took's face stopped him, and he offered his shoulder instead.

Once they were back in their room, Pippin sank gratefully down on his pallet, but Merry asked where Sam was. Bilbo did not answer. He told Merry to lie down and tucked a blanket under his chin, patting his shoulder. "He will be back soon. I will see that he has some breakfast. You two get some more rest, and if you need anything, send Caelestis or one of the other maidens to fetch me."

The young hobbits fell asleep quickly and Bilbo motioned for the Dwarves to come with him out of the room. Once in the corridor, he whispered, "They will only sleep for a short time. Nightmares, I am afraid. Time in Elrond's house will cure that, but it is too soon yet. I will stay with them for a while. You should go and get a look about. Rivendell is full of marvelous surprises. I will meet you for midday meal, my friends," he added with a bow. He went back inside the room and sat beside Peregrin's bed.

Gloín looked at the halflings for a few moments. He said quietly to Gimli, "That Bilbo! He needs rest as much as those lads. I wonder who is having the bad dreams—them… or him?"

Gimli offered no response; his own rest had been disturbed by ill dreams. Grey ships sailing away, crewed by people he knew and loved, leaving him alone on the last strand of Middle-earth. He had pleaded with them to return to him or take him with them. He had wakened with El's name on his lips, shuddering with grief. Brusquely, Gimli shut the dreams into a corner of his mind and spoke not of them to his father, who had woken when his son had cried out. Gloín had learned not to ask about his dreams.

Together they strolled about the grounds of Rivendell, but neither had the heart to seek out the marvelous things of which Bilbo had spoken. An air of breathlessness seemed to have infected the entire household. After some time they returned to their rooms.

Gimli could not stay cooped in the room for very long. He left Gloín speaking with the other dwarves, debating the news of Erebor and what they expected to hear at the council. When Gimli felt the burden of an abundance of time, he liked to spend it where he could learn something or do something. He had no hope of learning from the Elves anything useful, but he could do something if he could find a stone to hone the edges of his axes. He walked without direction down the long hallways, following his instincts and his sharp nose. He took paths leading downward, delved into the foundations of Rivendell.

Deep below the floor of the valley, Gimli found the forges of the elves. He breathed deep the scents of hot metal and raw ore, oil and burning wood. Many elves were there, working on tasks of craft or ironmongery. He did not wish to speak to an elf, but he knew that walking in and behaving as if he owned the place would be construed as a serious insult, and his father would be shamed. He chose one at random, a tall elf with wide shoulders and strong-looking hands. Gimli said to him in broken Elvish, "I need to… sharpen my axe, um… lord?" He stumbled over the phrase, hoping he had not said anything stupid.

The elf looked at him as if without comprehension, but when Gimli began to repeat himself, he held up a hand. Gimli saw with a shock that the hand was scarred, as if he had been badly burned. He also noted that this elf had strangely uneven hair, cut without regard to his appearance.

The elf spoke, his voice as dark as his untidy hair. "I hear you, my good Dwarf," he said softly, "I merely am surprised to see one of your race here. It has been too long since I have had the pleasure of a dwarf's company. I will show you where the grindstone is. Follow me."

Gimli trailed the elf, beginning to feel rather awkward. The elves present continued their work, but as he passed them, he noticed that they looked toward him and his guide with some amusement. His quick ears caught one whispered phrase: "Morfindel is a clever smith to have forged his very own Dwarf!"

Gimli was not amused, but he gritted his teeth and set himself to sharpening all his axes until their edges shone like silver. He saw that the elf had left him to his work, going back to his own task of etching a delicate design on a long silver knife with a bone-white handle.

Gimli was interested in spite of himself. He watched as the elf carefully selected on of his fine dark hairs, cut it off at the length he needed, then used it to lay a design on the blade of the knife. He spoke words that rang and buzzed in Gimli's head like copper bees and once he had done so, the filament of hair glowed like forge-hot metal, embossing the metal where the hair had been coiled and laid. He repeated the action to etch the hilt and guard. Gimli had not realized until the elf looked up at him that he had been standing there for many hours, observing the work.

The smith grinned at him. He wiped the blade with an oiled cloth, slid it with a _snick_ into its sheath, and reversed it with a flourish. He offered it with a half-bow to someone standing directly behind the dwarf.

Gimli turned and saw that his wood elf was standing there—for how long, he had no idea. The elf accepted the blade from the smith, and then glanced down at Gimli with an air of pride. Embarrassment reawaken the flame of anger in Gimli's heart, and he mistook that prideful smile as an arrogant smirk. He pushed past the smith and stamped out of the forge, grumbling.

This elven refuge was weaving a spell on him, he decided. He ought to stay in the chambers with his kin, and keep to the house where the hobbits were staying. He wished to see them again, and to learn if Bilbo's nephew had recovered. The fewer elves he had to look at before the council… the better! Then they would be on their way home to the Lonely Mountain, where he belonged.

When he surfaced from the deep halls of the smiths, he discovered that he had turned differently than he had descended, arriving on the valley floor from a cave some distance from the main hall. He shook his head; it was not like a dwarf to get turned around underground. _Deceitful elvish magic!_ He stamped across the grassy field toward the house, complaining under his breath about the whimsy of elvish architecture.

He felt someone behind him, and turned to find the wood elf was following him. He squared himself and planted his booted feet apart, frowning with displeasure.

Legolas stopped when Gimli turned. This Dwarf was the most unpredictable and unpleasant creature he had ever met. He was brusque and abusive to elves, but Legolas remembered the look of deep caring he had seen on that bearded face outside of Frodo Baggins's room the night before. And just now, for hours he had stood and watched the elven smiths work, so lost in the beauty of their creations that he had forgotten entirely his wrath and hatred. But now again he was steaming, face flushed and beard bristling. Legolas wondered what had happened to this Dwarf to make him so angry toward Elvenkind?

Gimli's voice as sharp and hard as the steel of his axe. "Are you lost, wood elf? Why are you following me?"

Legolas looked down his nose at Gimli, his own blood rising. Hours of watching and waiting had worn his patience away. The idea of a little aggressive exercise was suddenly very appealing. The elf crossed his arms and glared back at Gimli. "If I were looking for an efficient guide, you would be the last I would petition for directions. This is the field where my horse is stabled. You are merely going the same way as I."

"Seems to be a bit of a habit, you following Dwarves. I wonder if you could have found your way over the Misty Mountains had we not blazed the trail for you… and fought off the goblins."

Legolas set his jaw. "I have killed more orcs than you have hairs to count on your chin, Dwarf." Legolas's playful mood was spent as quickly as it had come. He moved to walk around the dwarf, but Gimli stepped in his path again.

"One would think," the dwarf said, "That with all the bridges, gardens, and corridors in this sprawling house, a Dwarf and an Elf could somehow avoid meeting if they chose."

"Aye," commented Legolas, looking at Gimli with a light in his eye, "It would seem that Fate would lay our paths together. I certainly did not choose it. Given my own will, I would our paths parted before ever they crossed, and remained sundered for all Time.

Gimli puffed out his chest. "You got a problem with me, Elf?"

"I do not quarrel in the halls of my host, Dwarf. I had heard that dwarves claim to be civilized… though I am not surprised to find you are not."

"This is a field, not a hall. We are alone here. I would settle this matter in a most civilized way, given my own will. You have skill with a bow and arrow, and I can throw an axe and split an acorn on the limb. I wonder if you can use that fancy knife as efficiently. What say you and I cross paths in the glade beyond the stables? There I could give voice to my argument with a sharper tongue," and he touched the handle of his axe.

"Happily I will debate with you in the glade," answered Legolas. "My kindred in Rivendell are masters of speech and lore, but my arguments are more martial. Have you no wife or child to mourn you in the Lonely Mountain? I do not care to create more grief; there is too much of that in the world already."

"Soon there will be less grief in the world... for this dwarf, anyway. In a fair debate, none shall mourn for me. I always have the last word."

"In this argument, that may be because you have no more breath with which to speak."

"We shall see!" Gimli stomped away, pleased to find a diversion that would eliminate two problems at once; too much nervous energy and one troublesome Elf.

Legolas was glad he had followed his Dwarf and now had a chance to further explore his riddles. He hoped Gimli would answer some of his questions before he had to send his spirit on to Mahal.

They walked together past the stables to an open glade, screened by trees and thick undergrowth. The rich green grass was springy and thick underfoot, studded with small flowers of red, purple and white; their scent was intoxicatingly sweet. Legolas stepped lightly over them, but Gimli did not heed them, crushing their delicate petals beneath his thick boots. The ground was clear of obstacles but rutted from the hooves of the horses. Legolas loosened the knife at his belt. Far away, the tallest tower of Rivendell peeked just over the top of the trees. A gleam of gold glinted there briefly, drawing the eyes of both Dwarf and Elf, before they turned and faced one another.

Gimli stopped in the center of the glade, turning and freeing his axe in a smooth motion. Legolas slipped the knife from its sheath, the oiled blade catching the sun and throwing many colours in an arc. They circled slowly, watching each other's movements carefully. The air in the glade grew warm and still, alive with a charge as if before a storm of lightning. The insects ceased their buzzing and the birds fell silent. In the distance, a horse neighed; a muted sound.

Gimli raised his weapon and saluted his Elf. In his heart he was reliving the painful parting he had endured in his youth, his dream creeping out of the dark corner from which he had believed it banished. His anger was fueled by disappointment and heartache; she had been a friend, a mentor, an immortal being. Why had she left, when his lifetime would have been but a passing hour in the fullness of her day? Elves were selfish, cold and heartless…

_…Elrond Half Elven leaned down over a table, his face written with care and concentration, working day and night trying to save a wounded hobbit whose life would be as brief as a candle to him… and a wood elf perched outside that door, watching and waiting… _

Gimli's axe froze as this vision played in his head, stealing the fury from his mood.

Legolas whirled his knife in his hand. His pride was stinging and his heart was hot with frustration at this Dwarf's audacity and conceit. A lesson on respect for two thousand years of fighting and killing was in order, but in truth, Legolas's will was not in this battle. Still, only so much insult could any being accept. He had learned long ago not to turn his back on any Dwarf.

The Elf raised his blade to his eyes, returning the salute, but before he could spring forward, a flash of light blazed between the combatants, temporarily blinding them both.

Gandalf appeared in the center of their ring of bruised flowers and grass. His grey cloak swirled as he turned to frown at both Dwarf and Elf. "What is the meaning of this, my friends?" he asked softly. "Is there not enough war in the world, that we must bring battle here? Beyond the hills there are lines of enemies upon which to quench your thirst for blood. Stay this madness and forget your quarrel."

Legolas sheathed his knife immediately, bowing respectfully to the Wizard. "Mithrandir! I crave your pardon, and the pardon of the Edain. I am full of anxious energy and have taken slight when I should have shown tolerance."

The Elf's humility impressed the Dwarf, and when the Wizard's bristling eyebrows arched at him, Gimli lowered is axe and bowed to the ground. "Forgive me, Gandalf! I am wrung with worry and heavy tidings. Idleness is not a commodity I can employ to good use, it seems." To Legolas, Gimli said stiffly, "Let our debate be said to have been settled."

"Oh, no, my good Gimli," said Gandalf with a hint of mirth, "Do continue your debate; speech between Dwarves and Elves should be encouraged! Just try to accomplish your arguments without the use of weapons.

"Now, you are both overdue for midday meals, and have been sought for several hours by your kindred, combing Rivendell as if it were a maze. Shall we return to the house now and calm them down? There is news to hear, and more messengers have arrived to attend the council."

"How is the hobbit, Frodo Baggins?" asked Gimli. Legolas stood attentively to listen to Gandalf's reply.

"There is no change yet; Elrond is still with him. It is a serious situation. To be completely honest, I have little hope for him. The wound is grievous, and was dealt by a deadly blade."

Legolas sighed, despair settling on him. "He is such a small creature, Mithrandir! How can he endure such suffering?"

Gimli hurrumphed, "That shows what _little_ you know about hobbits, Master Elf! They are tough—tough as old tree roots or the bones of the mountains! And clever and quick, when they need to be. Is that not so, Gandalf?"

Gandalf laughed, sad and mirthful at the same time. "It is indeed so, Master Dwarf. At least, I now hope that it proves so again. Come, both of you. Follow me."


	9. Chapter 9 Hall of Fire

**IX **

**Hall of Fire**

The grey wizard dispensed each contrite combatant to his waiting kindred, and they were left to make excuses as they saw fit for their lengthy absences. Legolas showed his fellows his knife, reforged and newly-scripted by the black-haired smith. They asked him no questions; they were used to the Prince disappearing for long intervals back home, and he volunteered no information about his conflict with the Dwarf.

Gimli had a tougher time with his excuses. When he said that he had gone to the smithy to hone his weapons, Glóin became suspicious. Usually the young dwarf would be very forthcoming and eloquent about the workplace of a mastersmith, but Gimli answered shortly and without heart. Finally he settled into a stubborn attitude that Glóin knew well enough; when he wore that scowl, he could tell that his son did not want to talk anymore. Glóin trusted that eventually he would learn the truth. He left off his questioning and they passed the rest of the evening in silence, Gimli pacing around the room, tugging on his beard.

The next day was yet more tense and disturbing. At every meal or walk the antagonists seem to run into each other, and their truce became strained under the atmosphere of the house. Some struggle was taking place in the very air; powers unseen warred in the halls and meadows of Rivendell. No more singing was heard and everyone seemed to be shadowed of heart. Gimli paced his chamber until he drove Glóin and the other dwarves from the rooms. He could not bear even to look upon the hobbits. Hope was leaving his heart.

Legolas fled the troubled airs the house and climbed a tree that he found far from the buildings, where the weeping music of the falls came as a mere murmur. But no matter how far he went, his own fear and despair came with him. He climbed to the highest branches of a great fir and settled down, hugging the rough bark and pressing an ear to the rind, listening to the timeless language of the trees. They whispered of darkness to come and gave him no peace, but held him in their strong limbs while the day crept by.

Sometime in the night, toward the dawn side of the hour, a wind swept though the open rooms and windows of Rivendell, blowing the shreds of despair away like cobwebs before a cleansing springtime breeze. Laughter awoke suddenly and singing was heard. Some spirit of darkness had fled, and all the elves and other sensitive folk were gladdened and uplifted.

Bilbo looked up with a start. He had been dozing at his desk, ink drying on his quill, when suddenly his candle had blown out. He had not meant to sleep, but had set down to jot a few notes and his exhaustion had caught up with him. He jumped up to run to Frodo's room, feeling that something had happened. As he hurried through the door, he nearly collided with Samwise coming to fetch him. Sam's brown face was alight with hope and excitement. "He's done it!" the young hobbit exclaimed to Bilbo, tears running down his face, "Glory and trumpets, Mr. Bilbo, sir! Master Elrond had done it!"

Legolas felt the change in the air. He slid down his tree and ran full speed to the house, leaping the rushing waters to scramble nimbly up the façade, a shortcut to the rooms where Frodo was kept. He vaulted the balcony rail and landed on top of the Dwarf who had seated himself on the floor outside of the sickroom.

"What news?" gasped Legolas, even as he saw the temper rising in Gimli's face. The Elf looked toward the room, half-fearful that his instincts were wrong, but his heart was light with surcease of grief.

"The Edain has succeeded in curing Frodo!" said Gimli gruffly. He straightened his clothing and affected indignity, but his face was split with a smile of pride and pleasure. "Bilbo brought us the word, and I came straight here. But we should not linger; Lord Elrond has said that Frodo needs quiet to rest. He is still concerned for him; he is very weak."

They peeked into the door briefly to catch a glimpse of the face, framed by dark hair and centered on a white pillow. Elrond sat beside him, and his long elegant fingers pushed back the curls to stroke the halfling's brow gently. Frodo sighed and murmured in his sleep.

They walked away down the corridor, both more wrapped in their hope than they could have explained, forgetting entirely their debate. Gimli was in a great humour after the long, anxious day. "He is Bilbo's nephew, you know. Good stock! Very tough in the fibre and constitution! My father says that if he is half the hobbit that his uncle is, he shall recover in a matter of days. He is family to me," the Dwarf added softly.

"I am filled with hope that he will recover fully," Legolas said. "So brief are the lives of mortals, and yet they burn so brightly! He is like a child of the Eldar, fair and radiant. I have not ever known any spirit so delicate and enduring as his, even among my own people. You say he is family to you?" Legolas arched an eyebrow and looked askance at Gimli.

The dwarf gave a gravelly chuckle, "Not blood-kin, of course! He is a halfling! I mean only that, being related to Bilbo, he is like family to my father and I. We share history."

Legolas was too cautious of this newly forged amity to ask for details of this history, which Gimli had taken such delight in withholding at their first meeting. Instead of pursuing the matter, he turned it aside, hoping that in later hours of Rivendell's new joyful atmosphere the dwarf might soften and relent, coming to share his locked heart.

In the main hall they split up, each gong to his own quarters. For the first time since they had left their homes they felt truly happy. Frodo Baggins was going to live!

⌂

When the morning dawned and a new day was birthed, Rivendell celebrated quietly the news Gandalf reported; that Frodo had woken with a clear mind and that his wound was healing rapidly. Elrond had succeeded beyond even his own expectations. Once the deadly shard was removed, Frodo's wound had closed and his small body rallied remarkably. All the long hours of hope and effort seemed to catch up with him all at once.

Elrond proclaimed that a feast would be held that evening in Frodo's honour, and that the next day the White Council would convene. Many folk were now assembled, and the time had arrived for the Free People of Middle-earth to gather to fight the Darkness. As the sun rose above the mountains, a shaft of warm light fell in the Edain's room, touching the knife-point and consuming it with holy fire. Elrond and Glorfindel debated that morning about responsibility and strength.

The feast was a joyful affair. Gimli was seated at a lesser table, but for this once he did not mind; he had the hobbits for company. Meriadoc and Peregrin were now full of cheer and well recovered from their fright and exhaustion. Samwise was tired but jolly, and they all did justice to the food presented to them and showed Gimli that hobbits could hold their drink almost as well as dwarves. Gimli glanced toward the main table occasionally, noting the while Frodo looked thin, still he seemed to be reclaiming health. He was eating heartily and talking with animation to Glóin. Idly, Gimli wondered where his wood elf had gone; Legolas did not appear at the feast. The dwarf had been running into him much too unintentionally, so that it now seemed strange not to turn round and find him.

⌂

Legolas had intended to join the feasting; as son of the king of Mirkwood he would enjoy a place of honour at Elrond's table. But early in the day, Aragorn had come to his chambers with a favour to ask; Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond had returned from the wild unexpectedly; they wished to show Aragorn what they had discovered and the ranger asked Legolas to accompany them.

Legolas agreed instantly. His heart was sore that he would have to reveal ill tidings at the council, tidings that he was sure that Aragorn would rue in particular, but he could not say ought of it to him yet. His father had charged him to reveal it only in council, before Elrond and Mithrandir.

He followed Aragorn out of the House and found Fëavano and another horse waiting for them. Legolas watched as the strange horse nosed Aragorn affectionately.

"Hail, Roheryn," the ranger said softly, stroking the animal's head before swinging onto his back. Elladan and Elrohir were already mounted and ready. They saluted Aragorn and Legolas, and soon they were riding full speed toward the west, trying to out-run the shifting shadows.

They came to the Ford of Bruinen and crossed, then rode downstream for many leagues. At last they slowed and halted, near a sandy bar upon the bank of the Loudwater where the river sometimes spilled during the spring thaws and autumn rains.

Three dead horses lay upon the sand, scavenged by carrion-eaters. Their coats had been black once. Nearby they found a cloak of black cloth, rotted and foul-smelling. All the plants and trees and other living things nearby were brown and withered, as if they had been touched by poisoned water or a killing frost. Legolas, looking upon the dead places, felt an icy breath upon his soul. He watched with distaste as Aragorn handled the black cloth; he felt sickened at the sight. "Do not touch it!" he cautioned. "_Ùlairi_… it is touched by evil."

"So we thought," said Elladan. "We found more such rags further downstream, and places similar to this where the foliage has sickened. But we have found no bodies wrapped in these cloaks. Aragorn, is this the garments that the _nazgûl_ wore?"

"Yes, this was their last disguise. Elrond and Glorfindel said that we would find no bodies… they have none. Legolas, can you see any traces of them? I would that I had the eyes of an Elf. My friend, can you look about for me… what do you see?"

Legolas searched the area with his careful eyes. The plants were ill with the touch of the rags of the wraiths but he could see that they would recover, faster of the offending garments were destroyed. The water ran clean. The air contained no shadows. He spoke all that he saw to Aragorn.

"It is as you have thought, my brothers," said Aragorn after Legolas spoke. "They are gone now, but I fear they shall not be gone forever." Aragorn dropped the rag and looked closely and carefully at the gruesome remains of the Black Rider's horses. Finally he went to the river and washed his hands in the clean water of Bruinen. Legolas wished that the black shroud would disappear.

Elrohir spoke, "We have ridden even to Tharbad and back, and found eight horses drowned and five black cloaks such as this. There is no sign of the servants of the Dark Lord now, but the country beyond the leaguer of Imladris is strangely quiet. I do not even trust the birds."

Aragorn let his eyes scan the sky overhead. "Let us return now to Rivendell and report this to Elrond. Let the guardians maintain their vigilance. Tomorrow there will be things to hear and things to tell. I wonder if it will be then that my own tale begins." Aragorn gave his foster-brothers a rueful grin.

Legolas glanced at Aragorn with curiosity. "What do you mean, Aragorn? Your tale is already a long one for a mortal man. What chapter of your life have I not yet heard, my friend?"

Aragorn smoothly leapt upon Roheryn's back. "A destiny awaits me that has long lain secret. Before Elladan and Elrohir I speak freely, for they know more about me than I do myself, and to you who are my friend, for I have traveled and hunted with you, I will share the secret I have borne since my coming of age. My father was Arathorn son of Arador, and he was leader of the Dunedain and the direct descendant of Isildur Elendil's son."

Legolas blinked at him, hardly believing his ears. "Tales of the distant past echo from your lips, my friend. Long-lived is the line of Elendil; ever may it grow into the dawning future! Think you comes soon the hour to reveal this truth to all? Surely the Dark One will seek to destroy you if you declare yourself?"

"I must do so one day, if I am to find the bliss I seek. It lies at the end of a hard and hopeless road. But Elrond had declared that if Arwen his daughter is to wed any Man, he can be no less than King of Gondor and Arnor—and that Man must be me."

Elladan spoke again, "We will countenance no less for our sister. Though our father's bitterness will be great if you succeed, worse will be the bitterness of the world if you fail, for the stars will fall and the world soon end if Sauron comes to rule the earth.

Legolas stared with an unbelieving smile at Aragorn. "You will seek the crown and the overthrow of the Dark One because you wish to wed? That is a strange reason to become king."

Elrohir guided his prancing horse beside his woodland cousin. "It is better to become a king for love of a maiden than for love of war or gold. Aragorn cannot be motivated otherwise. He has no desire for adulation or to be responsible for the lives of many people. But it is his misfortune and our good, that he is very apt and able to lead, and all folk love him whom he allows to know him."

"And how will this be accomplished?" wondered Legolas aloud. 'The entire world has gone mad,' he decided. His once urgent message seemed now unimportant in light of the momentous happenings around him.

"That we do not yet know, but we who linger will continue to fight and strive against the Shadow," said Elrohir. Both he and his twin wore determined faces. "To surrender to despair would ensure the victory of Sauron before ever he strikes another blow."

"We do not despair, brothers," said Aragorn. "Though no clear road is before us, a way will be found. It may be that other feet will begin that path, and ours shall be but echoes in the footsteps of true heroes. Back to Rivendell now, for the Evenstar shines in the Hall tonight and I am of a mind to return for a glimpse of her grace."

They galloped back to the fair houses of Elrond, letting their horses race. Legolas urged Fëavano to show Aragorn his paces, but the elf was actually pleased to ride behind the ranger. 'I would follow him anywhere' thought Legolas suddenly, and a weight of years of memory touched his shoulders and for a moment, he felt as if he were not actually there, but was in a tale of deeds long past, told with skill by an Elven Bard. Aragorn did seem like a hero to Legolas; his memory of Elendil was as vivid as his hand before his nose, and Elendil's blood spoke plainly in the face and heart of the lean, dark ranger.

By the time they reached the Hall, the feast was consumed and all the folk were gathered in the Hall of Fire. Grooms took their horses and Legolas hurried to his quarters to find clean garb, but even so, the whole valley was dark but for the starlight on the flowing waters and the red light from the Hall when he sought to join the celebration.

Through the seeming deserted halls of Rivendell the wood elf walked, listening to the echoing voices that made all the empty doorways call with gaping mouths; the corridors, lined with open windows, cast arcs of starlight across his path. Better than bread and meat was the singing of Elves in happiness,' Legolas thought, as he breathed the music like mountain air.

He walked unheeded through the Hall. Everyone was engrossed in the music; folk sat or stood, listening or dreaming, playing instruments or dancing; they were turning slowly, partnered with their shadows and each other, circling and coming together, moving apart and circling again.

On a bench near the fire sat Frodo Baggins, his eyes open and fixed on nothing. Legolas could hear the vision that played before his otherwhere regard. Too much like a youth he looked to the Elf, bathed in living light of the flames, gilding his pale skin and making the orbs of his eyes seem like liquid silver. Lindir sat nearby, playing a harp and singing softly a song of Valinor. Frodo had a smile on his face that touched Legolas's heart.

Content to listen, the Elf sat and watched the hobbit visiting in dreams the Undying Lands. Lindir's voice faded but his music continued, joined by a new voice speaking lines. Legolas smiled; the older hobbit, Frodo's uncle, was reciting a song for the delight of Elrond and all gathered, which they were to judge ere the end of their merrymaking. The song was about a mariner named Eärendil.

Frodo applauded when the song had finished. They spent some time arguing about which lines had been written by the hobbit and which had been suggested by Aragorn. Legolas could see that Elrond was rather touched by the effort; the elves tried to convince the old hobbit to sing again. He refused, claiming weariness, and he and his nephew departed from the Hall, stepping carefully over Samwise who had fallen asleep on the floor.

On the threshold of the doorway, Frodo paused. He turned back to hear the song that Elrond was playing on his harp and that his daughter Arwen was singing in a voice sweet as a nightingale. All folk in the Hall paused in their merrymaking to harken to the sounds. Aragorn stood beside her and his face was lit by the fire and the beauty of the Evenstar. He looked very much like an heir of Kings at that moment. He wore a tunic of green velvet and neither spoke nor sang, but drank the tonic of Rivendell; music as intoxicating as strong wine.

Legolas made a feast of all the sound and light and laughter and he felt no hunger or worry, transported completely by the atmosphere of the Hall. He dreamed his own dreams and shared the visions of others, until he became aware of another light voice speaking. Curious, Legolas moved closer so that he could hear more easily.

A young halfling was standing before a circle of Elves, telling a story about a Hobbit who set out with some Dwarves to liberate a treasure from a dragon. Legolas had never heard this tale before (he was not one who frequented the tale-fires back home, being duty-driven and of a solitary nature) and he listened eagerly, laughing with the others at the outrageous behaviour of this hobbit, growing excited with them as dangers unfolded. Trolls that turned to stone, orcs full of hate and cruelty; Legolas was surprised when the hobbit telling the tale, (he heard the other hobbit call him "Pippin") began to describe a creature that resembled Smèagol, but whom he called _Gollum_. He told about the riddle-game that Gollum and the Hobbit had played in the darkness under the mountain, a "precious" ring of gold as the prize. Legolas was entranced.

When Pippin's animated tale brought the company of dwarves, hobbit, and wizard to Mirkwood, Legolas began to feel some heat in his face. What was this tale? And why, if he had never heard it before, did it all sound so familiar?

As he heard of the dwarves capture by the Wood Elves, it finally dawned on Legolas that this was no tale at all, but a true story. This Thorin Oakenshield and Company were the same dwarves that he had been charged with, and who all had mysteriously disappeared from beneath his nose to his lasting shame!

Legolas listened now with true amaze to Pippin's words, and learned at long last how the Hobbit had eluded the spiders and the Elves, aided by a magic ring; how he contrived the Dwarves' escape in the wine barrels upon the River Running. _Wine barrels!_ Legolas covered his eyes with his hand. It was all too fantastic to believe, but he had been there... it was all true.

Peregrin told the story as if he had heard it many times, and his companion Meriadoc would occasionally add something he forgot, or make clear some detail. Together they described the death of the dragon and the Battle of the Five Armies.

As he heard this part of the tale, Legolas felt as if chains that had locked his heart in rusty captivity were broken and cast off. He laughed and applauded with the other Elves as the story wound to a happy ending. _'Riddles in the dark!'_ thought Legolas, _'Now I have found my answers in the Light of the Hall of Fire.' _

_  
⌂__**Author's Note:**  
__details of this version of Bilbo's Adventure can be found in 'The Heir of the Hill' Chapter 6: Fireside Tales.  
–L_


	10. Chapter 10 The White Council

**X  
**

**The White Council **

Legolas arrived early in the garden above the high bank of the river where the council would be held. There were set many chairs beneath the porch where a few folk were already gathered. Elrond was there, sitting in his raised chair with his long chin in his hand, frowning at some thought. Around him were sitting his counselors; Elves that

Legolas had not yet met. The wood elf hesitated, feeling suddenly awkward.

Their eyes were upon him and he knew what they saw… a tall lean Elf clad in woodland

colours, so different from their somber and rich garment, unique and colourful as autumn leaves. Legolas's face was not full of light nor was it lined with wisdom or bitterness. His eyes were blue as mountain lakes; theirs were grey and full of weight, ponderous with ageless thought. He met their eyes with level regard, and found himself adrift in grey mists.

Legolas did not understand the desire of the Elves who wished to depart Middle-earth.

Wood Elves felt a great love for their homes and could envision no other place grander.

The trees of Mirkwood spoke to them, provided shelter, food, security and even love... before Legolas came to Rivendell his entire world had been the Forest.

Yet now, he had been given a glimpse of light and stone and history and he wondered if somehow his vision of the world might not be broadened. These Elves he saw now and the ones he sat with in the Hall last night, they were deep and high and their souls shone out through their faces. But some were cold and hard as the statues of marble that warded the gardens, and others were bright and hot and burning with will. They knew tales as old as the shaping of the lands, remembering when other lands lay over them. They had seen change and destruction and the passage of Time did not erode their memories, but made all the history between seem extraneous. They no longer desired to learn; they had no direction in which to grow.

A hand touched his shoulder lightly. He turned and found a face of a friend beside him, and his feelings of alienation vanished. Glorfindel was there, a friend of many seasons, mentor and counselor, ally and brother. Legolas had known him all his life. At one time, Glorfindel had often come to Mirkwood and had himself taught Legolas the use of the bow when he was but a stripling. Though he was older than the wood elf by immeasurable years, they felt a kinship to each other as if they were siblings. Glorfindel had a mischievous streak that Legolas rather believed only he and a very few others had witnessed.

"Thranduilion," said Glorfindel, taking his arm in a strong grip. The cold glances of the High Elves lost their sharpness; they saw no longer a strange, nervous Elf but a prince and an ambassador. They turned and resumed their conversations.

Legolas was delighted and relieved; here was the friend he had missed. "_Heru nen Glorfindel. Mae govannen, otorno_. I wonder how I can have been in Rivendell for three days and not yet seen you." They clasped arms in a greeting of equals, and as they spoke together, Legolas perceived in his friend a shadow of deep concern that lay upon him. This shadow hung over all the members of the council in varying degrees.

And as they were speaking, the Dwarven party arrived. Legolas felt the Elves stir with ill-ease, and new tension charged the air. Elrond stood and greeted the Dwarves, asking them to sit and be welcome. In his face alone Legolas saw no resentment or distrust. It made him question his own feelings toward Dwarves in general.

He turned to offer a greeting of his own, to extend a hand of friendship, but he was stopped cold by the grim countenances of the dwarves, beards knotted and brows knit. They stared with open dislike and arrogance at the gathered Elves. Each face was an un-scalable barrier of stone.

He saw Gimli trailing his father, his eyes avoiding those of the Elves. Legolas thought he saw a flicker of the old humour in him, but it was hidden away quickly. The younger dwarf followed Glóin to their seats and the dwarves all sat clustered together, defensive posture in the midst of many enemies. It was as though a door had been slammed shut in his face.

Glorfindel's hand on his shoulder eased him, and he accepted the seat he offered. Glorfindel placed himself between Gimli and Legolas, and Legolas suddenly wondered if he knew about their little 'argument' in the meadow yesterday. A small grin creased his lips, and glancing up he caught that smile echoed on Gimli's bearded face. The Dwarf quickly frowned and scowled when he saw the Elf watching him. Legolas schooled his features to blandness, but his heart was lighter.

More folk were arriving to attend the council. Some men from Erebor and Rhovannion came and placed themselves near the Dwarves, looking in wonder at the other folk present. Legolas nodded to one or two familiar faces, unsure if they were the Men he remembered or their sons who wore their likenesses. He noted that Aragorn had appeared and seated himself in a corner, dressed again in his worn Ranger gear. Legolas offered him a brief smile. If one did not know that cavalier, he thought, those dark clothes would make Aragorn look positively sinister.

Elrond was speaking softly to Erestor when he paused, turning his head to observe the entrance of a strangely garbed man. Legolas followed his regard.

He had a noble face, this man, sun-touched and weathered with eyes brilliant and sharp. His hair was light-coloured and long, shorn about his broad shoulders. His arms were roped with strength and he carried his gear and himself easily and with grace; he was tall and confident. His garments had been rich once, but were now stained with travel and weather. Steel rings were his tunic and skirt, covered by a coat of royal design and colour, broidered with gold but faded and torn. He wore a mighty sword and his gear was finely wrought.

Elrond rose from his chair and said, "Welcome, Son of Denethor. The White Council will begin very soon. We are waiting now only for a few late arrivals. You come in good time to share your tidings."

The Man bowed toward Elrond. "My name is Boromir. Legends of your wisdom and foresight are well remembered in my country, Lord Elrond. I have just arrived upon your doorstep, and I am told that I am expected in council! Had I not been unhorsed at Tharbad, I should have arrived many days ago. It would seem that Providence has moved us where it would… if I were one to believe in such things as Fate and Providence." He removed his heavy cloak and unstrapped the thick belt that bound his sword to his side. Elrond signaled for an ingénue to bring refreshments for the road-weary man. "In truth, my lord, I think my words would be better heard in privacy, rather than flogged before the ears of all where secrets are lost and wisdom diluted." And his eyes rested upon the dark ranger sitting in the corner.

Elrond gestured to an empty seat. "Lord Boromir, secrecy serves its purposes, but some tidings are of no use to any if not shared by all. I have some knowledge of your errand and of the plight of your country. I bid you sit and listen, and to speak, when it is time for you to do so. Your father will wish to hear what will be aired before this council."

Boromir nodded and took the seat, but he did not look pleased. He gave everyone in the room a measuring glance, his eyes coming to meet Legolas's. The wood elf nodded toward him slowly; a warrior's acknowledgment of an equal. The man's gaze wandered back to Aragorn, and he sat and frowned, studying the ranger's features and wondering where he had seen him before.

Legolas spared a glance at Gimli, seeing that the Dwarf had also noted the exchange between the ranger and the warrior. He leaned over and whispered something into Glóin's ear in a language Legolas could not understand. His bright eyes caught Legolas looking at him. He raised an eyebrow and tightened his hand around his axe-handle. Legolas could not tell if he was angry or amused.

Now almost all were present, but for three empty seats on Elrond's left hand. Gandalf arrived as the bells were pealing overhead and at his elbow walked Frodo Baggins. The hobbit was a little anxious to be appearing before so many strange folk. He nodded tentatively to those who he knew, and Elrond introduced him to the faces he had not met.

Legolas's heart was glad to see the halfling so recovered, and he took note of him as he stood before the council. His eyes were a deep blue of summer skies, large and expressive. He was no more in height than a child of nine years measured by mortal standards, but he has wisdom and wit in his glance, and sobriety in his stance. He bowed to each person as they were introduced to him, and when Elrond spoke Legolas's name, Frodo turned his eyes toward the wood elf. Summer sky to mountain lake; they regarded one other and Legolas offered him his most gracious bow. Frodo smiled and whispered to Bilbo who stood beside him words that Legolas could plainly hear, "Doesn't '_legolas_' translate to 'greenleaf' from the Elvish?"

The older halfling nodded his head, and he glanced at the Elf for a long moment as if drawing him from a memory. Bilbo's face grew a touch reddened as he remembered where he had seen the wood elf before, and his hand fumbled unconsciously at his waistcoat pocket. Legolas also noticed the third halfling that crept into the garden and sat down against the wall behind Frodo, as silent as a shade.

Elrond began to speak, and everyone paid him all attention. The White Council began, and many folk stood and delivered messages, asked questions, offered news from every corner of the world. Legolas listened carefully to what was said, and he watched the faces of the speakers. He found little hope and much fear in them, and the weight of his own burden of tidings grew slowly.

Glóin stood and began to speak of the black messenger from Mordor. Legolas heard him with increasing dread. Lonely Mountain was very close to his father's kingdom; any war that occurred there would easily spill over into the trees. The more he listened to the Dwarf the hotter his heart grew. Why had there been no message of this to his father? Had not the Elves of Mirkwood aided the folk of the Mountain at need? Resentment flared in his heart.

Then his eyes rested on Frodo's face again. The halfling looked frightened but it was fear for his uncle that he wore, for Glóin's message warned Bilbo that the Dark Lord was searching for him. Legolas saw Frodo lift his hand and touch his breast, an endearing gesture of concern… or was it?

Darkness stirred beneath the surface of his perception. Legolas stiffened, aware of a pressure that was delivered by no hand or air. It seemed to all the Elves that something had drifted across the bright sun, and a sudden chill filled their hearts.

Elrond stood and his presence was a breath of calm air over the restless Elves. The shadow retreated and the bright sun returned. He began to tell the tale of the Ring from the beginning, and the morning shadows shrank as he spoke.

Presently, Bilbo took up the tale, apologizing before he began to those friends present if his tale was now slightly different from the one he had before described. Legolas heard anew the story of the Quest for Erebor, and when Bilbo described the events in Mirkwood, he glossed rather quickly over the details of their stay in Thranduil's kingdom. Legolas hid his smile in his hand.

Gimli had been watching the wood elf as the morning wore away. This council was full of news and no mistake, but he did not need his eyes to hear and he visited Legolas discreetly as words were bandied around him. He noted every flush and every smirk, and felt anger growing within him again. The audacity of this Elf, to grin as Bilbo described the imprisonment of the dwarves in dark dungeons! Gimli thumbed the edge of his axe, thinking of the things he could do when next he found himself alone with that Elf in an empty field!

After Bilbo finished speaking, Elrond bade Frodo tell his tale. Gimli left off his ire and harkened carefully, for this was a tale that had not been heard before. When all was told, the Dwarf sat back in amaze, his respect for the frail-looking halfling before him increased ten-fold, and also for the dark silent ranger that lurked behind the listeners. That they had survived such dangers and come through all still alive… it would have seemed without hope!

The man from the south had some doubts still, and he spoke defensively about his country, urging all to continue to place their hope in the strength of Gondor. He was proud and bold, and Gimli thought that, if every Man in the south were of the mind and body of this one, then there might be hope in fighting indeed. But Gandalf now stood, and he spoke a tale that wove through all the words that had been spoken that day, binding the stories into one great tale, and Gimli felt his vain hopes bleed from him again.

Boromir spoke when the Wizard paused, asking after the wretched traitor that had brought news to he Dark One of the halfling who 'stole' his 'precious'; what had happened to him? Gandalf said that he was held prisoner by the Elves of Mirkwood.

The wood elf stood swiftly, his face twisted with distress. He cried, "Now I must tell my tidings, and only here do I learn how evil they may seem. The creature Sméagol who is now called Gollum, has escaped!"

Legolas was horrified. All the possible evil deeds that this beast might perform now rested on his head. He was responsible, perhaps not directly, but he felt it was so, nonetheless. He confessed the details of the event that had led to Sméagol's departure, his heart stricken as he told of the slain guards he had found and the footprints of the orcs. He had followed them swiftly, but learned only that Sméagol had managed to elude his rescuers as well as his captors, and disappeared near to Dol Guldur.

Glóin stirred restlessly as the wood elf spoke, and retorted angrily when Legolas reported his merciful attitude toward the wretched creature. Gimli shared his father's heat and was then stunned as Glóin bowed contritely when Gandalf refuted him for his interruption. The insult rankled the young Dwarf, and he grumbled into his beard.

Gandalf continued his tale, waving the Elf to his seat. Glorfindel laid a hand on Legolas's shoulder, but little comfort did he draw from that contact. The blue piercing eyes of the halfling stabbed him, and he wondered what evil would come from his mercy.

Now debate raged about proofs; how can we tell if this is in fact the One, and no other? Elrond bade Frodo take out the Ring and show it to the council. Silence opened in the garden, and the halfling's hands were trembling as he reached into the throat of his tunic and drew out a chain that encircled his neck. On it hung a simple gold band that sparkled in the bright sun.

The reaction of the council was remarkable. Elrond and Gandalf both looked away from the Ring, studying instead the faces and reaction of those around them. Bilbo covered his eyes, refusing to look upon it again. Aragorn caressed the hilt of his sword, and his eyes were fixed on Boromir's face.

The man from the south was staring at the Ring; wonder had entered his face and sudden hope. Legolas noticed his sharp regard, and he saw the man hunger for the strength he thought he could wield to win the coming war. The Elf looked at the shining Ring and saw not strength, but deception.

The world dilated suddenly, and Frodo became the hub with the Ring at its centre. On his right hand stood Elrond and on his left was Mithrandir. To Legolas's eyes a triangle appeared. With Elvish sight, he perceived three powers poised in suspension: air and fire, with a black abyss between. The garden and the river and everyone else vanished except for those three points; shimmering spirits brighter than sun or moon, even the small body of the halfling glowed with light extraordinary. Legolas passed a hand over his eyes, and the tableau vanished.

Elrond was speaking again, making plain the choices as he perceived them. He urged the council to consider destroying the Ring, for while he saw no hope in success, he saw less in other paths. After some more argument and debate, empty voices in Legolas's ears harping that which had already been made clear, the question was put forth:

Who would take the Ring to Mount Doom?


	11. Chapter 11 The Forming of the Fellowship

**XI**

**The Forming of the Fellowship**

Legolas looked at the ring in Frodo's hand. It glittered brilliantly, spinning slowly on the end of the chain that was worn around his neck, which he held aloft for the Council to see. Frodo's face showed his discomfort, a loathing for handling the Ring and embarrassment at being the focus of the attention of everyone. Everywhere he looked, he saw eyes showing hunger and desire, fear, distaste and pity. His small hand shook and to Legolas he looked as if he was torn between the wanting to fling it away from him and a desire to put it back inside the collar of his shirt.

The Ring affected everyone in the Council. The Elves turned their faces away, filled with uneasiness, unwilling to even to look upon the evil thing. The Men who were gathered about gaped openly, awed by what they were hearing and seeing. The Dwarves shifted, feeling the threat and grouping together to support one other. Even after the halfling had replaced the Ring within the folds of his tunic, still the malice lingered and darkened all faces and hearts.

Glóin's eyes had glittered as he looked upon the One; he was thinking of the Ring that Thrór once possessed and resenting Elrond's reticence to discuss the Elven Rings. Gimli watched his father with a troubled expression, handling his axe and not realizing the he had cut his finger testing the sharp blade. Blood ran down his wrist unheeded, and he wondered what mighty hero would claim the right to destroy the Ring. He looked up and saw Legolas's determined face; suddenly Gimli felt great worry. What if the wood elf volunteers to take it? Elrond would permit it! Or one of these Men, who wore their greed and desire for power so openly? It could not be abided! Gimli stirred and Glóin placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him to his seat.

Legolas listened carefully to Mithrandir speak. Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond bantered about all the possibilities of what could be done with the One, and how the destruction of it might be accomplished. The Elf's heart leapt at the thought of sending it away across the Sea; it seemed a safe and reasonable quest. To try to go into Mordor was madness; it could not be done! Legolas remembered the sight of that Black Land; what other eyes had seen, his own feet had never stood there. He knew the direction where it lay, the path his people did not take. His heart leaned westward; let it go with the Exiles away, and bother Middle-earth no more!

It was not to be. Their only hope lay in the darker road, Elrond said. Mithrandir reinforced this and all came around slowly to agree. It would put the Dark Lord out of reckoning, if they seek to destroy it. But who would take it? Who could be trusted to bear this thing, and who would allow themselves to be placed in the very jaws of death, seeking to undo this terror fashioned many thousand years ago? He could not imagine who would sacrifice himself to do this. The Elves were unwilling to touch it. The Men could not be trusted, except maybe Aragorn, but he remained silent and removed. Boromir was openly in support of using the Ring to win the war against Mordor. He did not seem to understand why it could not be utilized so. The power of the Ring was working on the Man; a fire burned within him to touch it and use it. Frodo stirred uneasily beneath his hungry gaze.

The talk went round and round, coming again to the same place; hide or destroy. Boromir accepted finally that it was the only way, exercising at last the wisdom for which his house was known. But no one stood and claimed the Ring when Elrond defined their only hope.

No one that anyone expected to claim it, anyway.

It was Bilbo who first stood and volunteered to take the Ring, astonishing all the Council. Boromir nearly laughed aloud, but mastered himself when everyone took the hobbit seriously. Glóin smiled gently at his old friend, recalling memories they had shared on a similar road of little hope. Youth may flee from Men, Dwarves, and Halflings, but courage was immortal.

The council had lapsed into silence; eyes were downcast and faces long. Legolas felt a kind of panic hardening inside him, a stone in his heart. Something must be done, someone must be chosen. He knew he had not the strength to do this deed. He had failed in his responsibilities in the past. He could not trust himself in such an important task.

Gimli placed his bleeding thumb in his mouth, his eyes flicking to faces to measure them for worthiness. He felt urgency growing within, also; the Elves should _not_ be placed in charge of this deed. They had failed before and surely would again. It was because of them that the Ring had been forged. It was their responsibility to dispose of it, but they could not be trusted again. They had had the power and opportunity to destroy it before, and had failed to do so. '_One solid push…'_ Gimli's thoughts recoiled from this image. If it had been Glóin who held the One, and Gimli stood in Elrond's place, could he have pushed him into the Fire?

Only the hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat. Glóin recognized the signs in his son that warned of an approaching outburst. The elder Dwarf was praying that his son would not volunteer to carry the burden of the Ring; too many of his folk and kin had he lost to Rings.

Silence filled the garden; even the rushing water sounded muted and pensive. Hearts ticked off the passing time until the bells rang at midday, startling everyone.

It was Frodo who stood; Frodo who broke the silence and accepted the burden that the strongest could not bear and the wisest dared not claim. It seemed to Legolas that something moved within the body of the small mortal, speaking with his light voice. That brilliant light that illuminated the hobbit's soul was yet visible to the wood elf, who had never seen such a presence in any other than another Elf or a Wizard; his breath caught in his throat as he heard the soft words.

Frodo stood, his head coming no higher than Gandalf's shoulder as the Wizard sat in his chair, and he said, "I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way."

"If I understand aright all that I have heard," said Elrond, doubting his own wisdom but not the courage of the halfling, "I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will."

Elrond's other words were lost to Legolas, as his heart was filled suddenly with pity and amazement, and also a strong desire to shelter and protect Frodo. It took all of his strength to remain seated and silent; his hands gripped the rests of his chair. He could feel the eyes of Glorfindel on him, and he wondered what his father would say when Finoglos returned to Mirkwood without him; he knew in that instant that he would not be going home after the Council.

Gimli's heart was all in flame as he watched Frodo claim the task. Anyone else he would have protested, but maybe Gandalf or Glóin. The hobbit's determination and sacrifice impressed Gimli, but he still looked so frail and thin. Surely, he would not go alone….

These words were spoken aloud, not by Gimli but by Samwise. No longer able to remain silent, the small hobbit had leapt to his feet, braving the formidable fortress of Elrond's face to offer his protest.

"No indeed!" said Elrond, with a smile, "You at least shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

'No indeed,' thought both Legolas and Gimli, echoing Elrond's words. They did not know at that time but at least two others heard those same words in their own heads, though both were motivated by entirely different goals.

⌂

The Council was ended then, and Elrond rapidly departed after placing a blessing on Frodo's head. The hobbits were gathered in hand by Gandalf and whisked away. The Men and Elves and Dwarves each departed to discuss and digest all that they had learned, and to prepare to return to their own lands. As Legolas lingered, hoping to have a word with Lord Elrond, he saw Aragorn and Boromir in earnest speech together, but the muttering of the Dwarves drowned out their voices.

"Madness!" one Dwarf was saying. "How can a halfling be expected to accomplish what the bravest and strongest cannot dare to try? I know you are fond of the creature, Lord Glóin, but seriously… is this Frodo mined from the same ore as Bilbo?"

Glóin was steadfast in his support. "Frodo Baggins is the best choice. He will live up to his family legend; I have no doubt. But he will need much help to accomplish his task." Gimli met his eyes and knew that the decision was his. He gripped Glóin's shoulder and turned away without a word, seeking Elrond's chambers.

Walking down the hall, he felt a familiar presence and without turning, he said loudly, "I tire of showing you the paths, wood elf! How is it that your people are so fleet and light-footed, and yet slow on the outset? Will you follow me all the days of my life?"

Legolas snorted in derision but laughed in his heart. "The foot who thinks before it seeks a path is not slow or shy but scrupulous. And the view of your back is not so lovely that I would relish contemplating it overlong."

"Well, if I had brains in my feet, then I might not get anywhere! I think with my head and listen to my heart. My feet just get me where I want to go." The Dwarf paused and the Elf stepped up to his side. "Where do your brainy feet lead you now, wood elf? There is room for you to ride round on this pass, so I will let you go on and seek your pleasure. I have no time to be idle today."

"Not that it would interest you, mountain dwarf," retorted Legolas, annoyed that Gimli refused to use his name even now that they had been introduced. "I seek words with my Lord Elrond. This matter we have discussed needs more speech yet. Where are you bound? Have you blunted your axe already? A sharp blade in an idle hand is of no more use than idle words on a sharp tongue."

"What are you talking around, wood elf? Speak plainly, if you can. I am in haste."

"I am saying, blunt one, that if you would use that hunk of metal that you lug around to a good cause, then perhaps we should lay aside our personal grievances and act where others have hesitated. There is a halfling going into mortal danger, and he is going to need help. I am planning to ask Lord Elrond to consider letting me go with him. You could do as much… if your father permits it."

Gimli was rather surprised that the barb in Legolas's comment failed to arouse him to anger. "There is only one obstacle barring my way to doing just that, Elf. Kindly step aside or fall in. For the sake of Frodo Baggins, I will countenance even an Elf as company, so long as he is one that has proven himself as worthy. Arrogant and longwinded you are, but you at least still have heart within you. These others seem to me already departed for the West. You might prove useful yet."

"There are many more worthy than I," said Legolas. "Many more powerful and skilled, wiser and braver. But they dare not go and I understand why, now that I have seen the Ring. Do not mock them, I ask you," he added quietly.

Gimli hesitated slightly, then nodded. "I, too, am less worthy than many Dwarven heroes. My father would be a better choice, but his is now too old to take on such a quest. He has given me his blessing to seek the honour of accompanying Frodo, if Elrond finds me an acceptable companion."

Legolas grinned, "If he chooses by merit and heart, you shall win title; also if he chooses by stubbornness and pride!"

"Those being the prerequisites, then surely the entire party will be comprised of Elves!" retorted Gimli with a booming laugh.

"I think a compromise of those characteristics would be more useful." Elrond appeared beside them. They had in their banter passed the door of the chamber where he had been and he had overheard their conversation. They turned and bowed, somewhat abashed and yet not shamed. In Elrond's company, the pressure of maintaining their racial feud was absent.

"Lord Elrond, we have come…" began Legolas, but the Lord of Rivendell interrupted him with a raised hand.

"I know why you have come; I was waiting for you. Come inside, both of you, and speak with me now. There is much to do in the short time we have left. Let us make the most of it."


	12. Chapter 12 Truce

**XII**

**Truce**

Elrond gestured for them to be seated but he walked toward the open view of the waterfalls that fell past his chamber. The spray of the falls could be tasted in the air, moist and cool. The chatter of the water made a constant singing around them.

Elrond was silent for some time, staring out of the window. Gimli and Legolas glanced at each other. For some reason, both had a feeling this was not going to be as simple as first they thought. When Elrond began to speak at last, both started as if stung.

"The world is in great danger, though my saying so does not surprise either of you. Your homes have long been besieged by the Shadows, and ever have you continued your fight, though aid and allies have become few." Elrond crossed the room and sat down. His long face was seamless and ageless as the sky. Gimli wondered if he had always looked so. In the Hall of Fire he had seen Elrond smile—had even heard him sing—but always about him there was a brooding air.

Gimli shook himself slightly, attending to Elrond who was now speaking again. "Now that the Enemy has moved openly against us, we can best protect our lands by returning and aiding in the defenses. However, this quest is our best hope, and also our last hope. All the strength of arms and arrows in Erebor and Mirkwood are not enough to stem the tide. We are all threatened. Together we must try to preserve our folk and lands until the quest can be achieved or fail utterly."

"Lord Elrond, can you not see _any_ hope?" Legolas asked, shaken to his heart. Always he had heard of the wisdom and foresight of the Half-elven lord. That Elrond could not tell what would happen scared the wood-elf as he had not been frightened since his childhood.

"All I see is hope, Thranduilion. But I cannot see the ending of this, nor beyond. I know that this attempt must be made, and I _feel_," Elrond paused to stress the word, "that Frodo Baggins is our only hope. He was chosen for this burden, by powers higher and mightier than the Wise can know. It is our duty to aid him however we can, with hope or without, to see him safely along his road as far as can be. For that purpose, I plan to choose companions to accompany him on his journey. The number will be small, for the company must travel swiftly. There will be need of skill and of strength and courage. Each race should be represented, to demonstrate that this is a cumulation of the efforts of the Free Peoples." Legolas and Gimli both raised their heads, eager to be included in this number. But Elrond glowered at them, and both felt a fear that they were not considered worthy.

"I do not know that you two are the best suited for this endeavour. You are both accomplished warriors and your loyalty and honour cannot be doubted. But your personal conflict will endanger this quest. I cannot countenance any risk to Frodo's success by saddling him with two quarreling companions. His burden is heavy enough, and it will grow heavier."

"My lord Elrond!" burst out Gimli, rising to his feet. "I swear to you I will serve Frodo well! I will let nothing interfere with protecting him and seeing this task done. I swear it on my life, and the honour of my family!"

"I, too, do swear," announced Legolas, also rising. "Any petty differences that this dwarf and I have aired shall not be weighted upon me. I shall cast them aside, and be set to my purpose. I will offer my woodcraft and weapon-skills to Frodo, to further his success."

Elrond looked at them both, standing flushed and earnest before him. He motioned for them to be seated again. He seemed unmoved by their display, resolved to deny their commitment.

Legolas wondered how he could return home if he failed now. At his father's side he would fight, until the Shadows devoured the forest at last, and his shame would never die, even then.

Gimli felt desperation rising inside his heart. Who could go in his stead? Who was better trained, young enough to endure and strong enough to persevere? He could not be found lacking now, after all that he had endured to come to this point. Was this some elvish plot to cut the dwarves out of the glory to be had if this war was won? These words rang hollow inside his head, and tasted bitter, and Gimli rejected it even as he thought it. He took a deep breath and waited, ready to demonstrate whatever skill or task that Elrond might suggest to prove his worthiness.

After a time of watching their faces, Elrond rose and motioned for them to depart. "Time we have in small amount, but some time still we must wait. Scouts must return and their reporting be heard before any final decisions can be made. I suggest you use this time wisely. Resolve your differences or at least come to terms that will allow cooperation. I will give you this time to prove to me that you are suitable for this quest. I will let you know my decision." And they were dismissed.

Gimli and Legolas walked down the corridor, each lost within his own thoughts. At their side walked the obstacle that barred their way to a desired responsibility. Neither could find words to begin their compromise.

After a long while, they came to the end of the corridor in a garden. The river flowed away nearby, and further along opened a mead where had fallen a tree, aged past renewal. It stooped over the ruin of its shadow, now a home for birds and beetles, its limbs cut for wood and carved for tools. Long after the hour of its death, still it served.

Gimli broke the silence first. "I don't suppose you would consider withdrawing your request to join the company?"

"You are wiser than you look," answered Legolas bitingly, swiftly regretting his words as the passed his lips. "Forgive me… this is not easy for me, either. We must find some way to come to an agreement, so that we can work together. If we cannot, then neither of us shall go, and perhaps Frodo will suffer for our foolishness."

Gimli's ire died in ashes. He stooped and picked up a sharp stone from the path. To release his anger and frustration, he flung the stone at the dead tree and was rewarded with a solid _**thunk**_ as the missile struck the bole, sending the birds spiraling in alarm. This gave him an idea.

"Once we intended to prove to each other our skill. Let us continue our debate."

"I will not quarrel with thee, son of Glóin," said Legolas. "Heard you not Lord Elrond's words?"

"I have heard them. He said we need to find a respect for one another. I propose that we do so. There is no need to shed blood nor exchange harsh words. Let us have a contest." Leaning up against the woodpile near the dead tree was an axe. Gimli picked it up and tested the edge with a thumb.

"What do you propose that will not get us evicted from Rivendell?" asked Legolas, eyeing the Dwarf nervously. He did not doubt he could outrun him, but turning his back on a dwarf with an axe was something he did not want to do.

"You do something that I cannot do, and I shall do something that you cannot do. Thus we will prove our usefulness to each other, and show Lord Elrond that our differences are also our strengths." Gimli tested the strength of the axe-handle in his big hands. "You go first, son of Thranduil."

"I think a good beginning would be for us to use each other's correct names," commented Legolas dryly.

"Very well, Legolas. What can an Elf do that a Dwarf cannot?"

Legolas's lips bent in a smile. "Well, I have never seen a Dwarf do this…" and he ran swiftly like an arrow from a bolt, to the dead tree and up its smooth barkless bole. With a great leap he sprang to a nearby tree and ran lightly along its upper branches, stirring barely a leaf in his passage.

"Very good!" Gimli said as Legolas returned, landing lightly at his side without a sound of leaf or twig rustling. "You are swift and silent, and if we ever need apples from the top of the tree, you shall be chosen to harvest them!"

"Show me what a Dwarf can do that an Elf cannot, Gimli. This is the riddle that I cannot solve now."

"Not much, I am sure," said Gimli as he walked toward the dead tree, still a tall and solid growth. He was swinging the axe, testing the balance of the head. He stopped and faced the bare trunk. "This only, maybe…" and he swung the axe in a great over-handed grip and hewed the ancient wood with a great—**thock!!—**that shook the birds from the boughs of nearby trees. The tree split from root to broken head and fell separately, cloven in one swing by the Dwarf's mighty arms.

Legolas was impressed. "That I cannot do, Gimli. You are strong indeed."

"Then perhaps we both have something to offer this quest, even as different as we are?" Gimli sat down on one half of the split tree, turning to face his Elf. "Our trial is not over, but this is a good beginning. In the time we have, let us prepare for our quest. It must be that Elrond finds us suitable. I will not waste what may be my last hours with my father trading japes and insults with you. Go and spend time with your people and forget not your skills. There will be much need for them in the days ahead."

"My people will be away soon, returning to my father's kingdom," answered Legolas with some sadness. "Here I am as much a stranger as you. But do not fear; if I have not forgotten my skills in two thousand years, two weeks shall not cloud my mind."

They parted in that garden, separated as the halves of the lifeless tree. Above their heads, leaning against the rail which encircled his turret, Elrond looked on with a wry smile.


	13. Chapter 13 Justification

**Tree and Stone**

**XIII**

**Justification**

There was a ruckus in the Dwarven quarters. Gimli approached the chamber with growing apprehension. He could hear his father's voice, an even and firm tone over which several other voices were raised in argument. Gimli hastened to lend his support to Glóin, whatever the subject of the debate.

As it turned out, the subject of the argument was himself! The voices fell silent as the young dwarf entered the room. Boròr was standing at the point of a wedge of dwarven ire, tugging on his greying beard as if he expected it to come off in his hands. Glóin stood before him, arms crossed and face closed. Boròr turned his eyes toward Gimli.

"And where have you been, beardling? Great councils and debates of our Age ring in the halls and _**you**_ tarry beneath elvish awnings while here your folk discuss the future of our people! Did you pay any attention at the council? Can you even understand what all this means?"

Gimli ignored Boròr, saying to his father. "I have spoken to Lord Elrond on our behalf."

Boròr was not pleased to see Gimli's back. He clapped a heavy hand on Gimli's shoulder. "And who are you to speak for Dwarves to Elrond?"

Gimli turned his head, staring at Boròr's offending hand, then casting a piercing glare to his face. Boròr released him and stepped back. "I am Glóin's son, and I claim the right to represent our folk in this quest, if Lord Elrond permits." Gimli clearly stressed the Edain's title, and his eyes challenged all. "Idle I stood, when Thorin Oakenshield when forth to reclaim the home of our people from the dragon. I remained with my father and my king when Balin made his journey to Khazad-dum, though my heart was sore to join him. Now I am the fittest, the strongest, the most skilled and mettled, and I claim the right to accompany the Ring-bearer. Which of you wish to challenge me?" Gimli raised his axe and kissed the gleaming edge. "I have been quarreling with Elves all day, and I am ready for a real fight!"

Glóin was nearly swelling with pride, looking on as his son stood up the elders. He took a step to bring himself behind Gimli. "As the official representative of King Dàin, I have already appointed my son Gimli to this task, as is my right. Boròr, you speak with wisdom and with passion, but in this you have no voice. Gimli is the one who will go. But as he says, the last decision is with Lord Elrond."

Boròr frowned and twisted his beard. "How can you trust this Elf-lord? Did you yourself not languish in the prisons of the Green Elves? Did the comfort of those cells teach you to love thralldom?"

Glóin moved so quickly that even Gimli was surprised, and the bottom length of Boròr's beard was lying on the floor before anyone had realized that he had drawn his axe. Boròr leaped back, stumbling into the other dwarves behind him and tumbling to the floor. He stared at Glóin in shock.

Glóin replaced his axe in its sheath. "I consider this to be the end of the debate. Gimli, if you would accompany me... I wish to pay a visit to our old friends." Father and son left the room and Boròr, fingering his shortened beard, reflecting on how thankful he was that Glóin had cut away only what could easily grow back.

⌂

Legolas had a similar problem when he returned to the airy chamber he shared with his travel companions. Finoglos was beside himself with anger, but for quite the opposite reason.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, discarding all pretense of respect. Legolas merely listened, his arms crossed and his bearing set. He had expected no less.

Finoglos continued his tirade. Baranhan and Randundo stood nearby, their faces betraying their own feelings. "Your father the King... he will not hear this! When I return to Mirkwood, he will ask 'Where is my son?' What will I tell him?"

"Tell him that his son has taken responsibility for himself," Legolas said gently, "At last."

"Responsibility? You call this responsible? Gallivanting off on some doomed errand with a motley crew of half-grown mortals?" Finoglos sputtered.

Legolas's face grew stony. "Stay your tongue before you say more than can be recalled, Finoglos. You and I are friends of old but these folk deserve our respect, not our disdain. I will not hear you belittle them."

Finoglos touched his arm, a gesture of entreaty, "Please, Legolas my prince; reconsider! Your father did instruct you to return and not be turned aside! Let another take this quest. Your people and your king need you."

"And I need to see this through. This is my fate, Fin. Father shall not hold you responsible for me. Indeed, it is likely that you shall stand in my stead, captain of the guard that was once my pride, and upon you will his gaze fall should the kingdom need an heir. I would trust none more than you, my friend.

"You must let me go. All the errors of my life have built this stony road, and I must tread it. At the ending will I make reparation for my folly, and maybe find salvation. When I return to Mirkwood, I shall no longer be the Elf you see before you." He gripped Finoglos's shoulder, and his friend returned the gesture, tears of silver filling his almond eyes.

"I shall bear tidings to thy father, Thranduilion. _Nai hirivalye Valimar, heru nin_."

Legolas smiled. "You always were a good student of the old tongue. May you find Elfhome, also, my friend."


	14. Chapter 14 Leaf and Rock

**Tree and Stone**

**XIV**

_The Council has decided to send Frodo Baggins as Ring-bearer, to bring the One to Orodruin. His companions, other than the faithful Samwise, are yet to be chosen.  
_  
**Leaf**

When Finoglos rode with Baranhan and Randundo to return to Mirkwood, Legolas rode accompanied them to the foothills of the mountains. Fëavano was pleased to be bearing him again, but when Legolas dismounted and instructed him to follow Randundo, the elf horse whinnied and resisted. Legolas felt a pain in his heart as he thought of going on a journey without his faithful friend.

He fondled the proud horse's head and said, "_Noro lim, mellon nin!_ I have a journey before me that is for no fine horse to attempt. I could not let you suffer to spare me a few steps. None of the rest of the companions are riding; we are to be remember in tales as the Nine Walkers."

Fëavano snorted as if this was an insult, but he lowered his great head and gently butted against Legolas's shoulder before turning to follow Randundo obediently.

Watching them walk slowly away, Legolas remembered the moment that Elrond had summoned him to his chamber to deliver his decision. Legolas was granted a place among those being chosen to go with Frodo and help him.

"Frodo Baggins is the one appointed by the Council to bear the Ring," Elrond had said, "And not unless the need is dire, and the Ring-bearer fallen, should any other take up this burden. I have tried to choose wisely, and select those who I believe would have the courage and fortitude to continue his errand, should things go badly very early. But I have no illusions that all of you will survive this quest, nor that all of those beginning this journey will accompany Frodo everywhere that he must go. It is the long journey between here and Mt. Doom that proves he needs assistance. Should he make it across the mountains, then I deem that his companions will have fulfilled their duty."

Legolas had responded firmly, his pride stirred, "I will go with the halfling even to Sammath Naur! I will not be turned aside by a long journey or cold comforts!"

"Maybe it will be so, and maybe other quest will bear you off," Elrond had returned gently. "Set not your heart in stone and listen to this wisdom; a great party of folk traveling together may attract attention unwanted. And an Elf in a desert stands out rather sharply to seeking eyes. Do not endanger Frodo with your zealousness. He must succeed, at whatever cost, though I hope that it is not a price too high."

Elrond's face then became sad. Legolas stared at him in wonder. Elrond spoke softly, and there was resignation in his voice, "For many nights and days I tended him, and now it is I who needs a balm for my heart! What is it with these tiny folk that they take our love, offered reluctantly, and give it back so wholly that we feel a marvelous kinship to them?"

"The hobbit Bilbo Baggins; he is a fascinating creature." Legolas agreed. "And that Frodo is his son does not surprise me, for they are very similar in courage and constitution."

Elrond looked at Legolas in amusement. "But they are not father and son, my good wood elf! Did you not hear the tale of how Bilbo adopted his young cousin and brought him to live with him, as his heir? No? Well, let us go to the Hall of Fire, and I shall make a request of our dear Bilbo, so that your ears should know the truth of it. But you are still correct. Bilbo and Frodo are quite similar, while still differing in some very important ways." Elrond had not elaborated at the time, so it was long before Legolas came to fully understand his last words.

And now as he watched his friends ride away, returning to the lands that had once been his entire world, Legolas felt suddenly very small, as if he were somehow become a halfling himself, facing a great journey with a dark ending. The mountain wind buffeted him harshly, colder that ever he had felt its bite before.

⌂

**Part 2**

**Rock**

Hot as a forge's fires burned the heart of Gimli as he watched the four wood elves ride away that morning, turning their backs on the world, as so often they had done. How could he simply leave, and let the Quest fall to chance?

Gimli was angry and disappointed. He had come to rather enjoy bantering with the wood elf Legolas, and he admired his skill and grace—although wild horses could not have dragged those words from his lips! But watching them, as they shrank into the distance without a backward glance, reminded him of another departure many years ago and he felt the same hollowness in his heart that he had felt then, and bitterness returned to his thoughts.

"Trust an elf to leave," he grumbled softly, knotting the end of his beard. He was looking out of the window at the end of the east wing of the House. A balcony opened up over the falls and showed the valley below, a map in a storybook with the river Loudwater running down the center like a spine. The road wound up out of the valley toward the pass on the high places. "Let them go!" War would come to their guarded places, and the trees would not hide them from the Shadow that would cover the earth.

He heard a soft noise behind him, turning to find Bilbo's youngest cousins walking down the corridor towards his window. With an effort, he shook off his dark thoughts and greeted them.

"Hail, Merry and Pippin!" He knew them well, now, from nights in the Hall of Fire telling tales and drinking ale. The two merry young hobbits got along well with the Dwarves, even grouchy old Boròr. Gimli was glad that they would remain in Rivendell, soon to return to the Shire. Some folk indeed did not belong on dangerous missions.

"Hail, Gimli!" Both hobbits bowed, in unison with a flourish. Gimli's laugh boomed out and he clapped their shoulders.

"What brings you to the windy side of Rivendell this morning?" the dwarf asked. "At the breakfast table I can usually find you at this hour, and in the next hour as well! How fares your cousins today?"

Merry and Pippin laughed. "Cousins Bilbo and Frodo are very well, and linger yet at the breakfast table that we have forsaken, to deliver a message to you from Lord Elrond," Merry said, stooping to pick up a pine-cone. He threw it as far as he could, trying to reach the waterfall beyond. Pippin imitated him, his greatest effort only reaching half as far as his older cousin.

Gimli waited a few moments as their contest drew angry voices from those whose quiet morning was interrupted by a strange hail of pine-cones upon the roofs of their dwelling. The hobbits retreated hastily, giggling.

"What of this message, my mischievous lads?" prompted Gimli.

"Oh! He wants to talk to you. And your father, too." Pippin said. He peered closely at Gimli and pointed at him. "You have a knot in your beard, did you know?"

"Hmm? Yes, so I have... excuse me, lads." Gimli hurried back to the chamber, where Glóin was breaking fast with the other dwarves in their parlour as was their custom. Gimli preferred the common hall for his own meals, and the cheer and wit of the hobbits for company. Occasionally, Gimli could persuade his father and the others to accompany him.

This morning he found them grumbling over breakfast, clearly amid a debate of some kind. Gimli bowed to apologize for the interruption, and delivered his message. Glóin rose at once.

"Let us all hear what the Elven Lord has to say, Glóin." Boròr said, and the other dwarves murmured in agreement.

"I shall report faithfully," responded Glóin, but this did not satisfy the other dwarves. They insisted on coming along. Glóin shrugged and led the way. Gimli said nothing.

If Elrond was discommoded by the large group of dwarves that appeared at his study, he gave no indication. He welcomed them all inside.

"I thank you for coming so swiftly, Lord Glóin. In these days since the Council I have deliberated the selecting of individuals to accompany Frodo Baggins on his quest and speed his success. I have decided that each race should be represented in this endeavour, the numbers composed to reflect both our strengths and our hopes for union in peace with all races. Thus, at the petition of your son Gimli, I have appointed him in the place of the dwarves."

Gimli let a silent sigh escape him. Glóin beamed with pride and laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "He goes with my blessings, and I know that he will serve the Ring-bearer well."

Boròr could not let the instant pass. "But what of the Dwarves' interests in the Rings? Are we to return to our king and people with no news or allies to bolster us in the war to come? Can we not send word to Balin in Moria? It seems to me that we are placing much hope on the head of one frail halfling!"

Elrond looked at the dwarf and Boròr took half a step back, so strong was the veiled ire of the Half-Elven lord. "As I said in council if you were there to hear, there is naught that can be done other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone, as you have seen. Your troubles are but a part of the troubles of all the western world. All things of worth and goodness are threatened by the Shadow. And together we will fight, each in our own way, and each to their strength and beyond."

To this Boròr could say nothing, so Elrond bowed and dismissed them. Gimli lingered behind. "Lord, a word with you?"

"Of course, Gimli. You have doubts about your choice?"

"Not in my willingness to go, nor in my belief in my worth. Your words do bolster this dwarf so that I would move mountains to assist the Ring-bearer toward his goal. But I do wonder about the other companions, the ones who will also accompany us."

"Not all decisions have been made. Much deliberation remains to me. My councils will be made known in a few days, after the last of the scouts return."

"Will we go to Khazad-dûm?" Gimli blurted out. In his heart was still the desire to know what had befallen his kindred, and why they had been silent for so long.

Elrond rose and walked slowly to the window. His grey eyes were farseeing, and he looked toward the south, through the bulk of the mountains that rose and held Rivendell in security. Penetrating was his gaze, and Gimli fell silent watching. It seemed that the Elrond was many leagues away instead of standing in the same room as the dwarf.

After long minutes passed he spoke. "I do not see the path that will be taken, only glimpses of possibilities. There is darkness ahead, and many paths diverging from the road. And beyond, I see nothing. The future is uncertain."

Having no words to say, Gimli bowed and left Elrond, still looking out of his window. Sober and depressed, Gimli took a walk rather than return to his chambers to listen to Boròr complain.

If it was winter in this valley, it was as remote as the sky overhead. The air was soft and moist, and while many colourful leaves fell and blew about, there was much green amid the trees and flowers bloomed still, obstinately denying the seasons. Stubborn as an elf, Gimli thought to himself, and he sat down on a stone and slowly worked the knot out of his beard.

To his surprise, a lone figure appeared, walking toward Rivendell down the road from the mountain pass.

Legolas noted the dwarf sitting beside the road, and he let his feet lead him nearby. He sat himself beside him on the grass, taking in the view of the mountains that he had assumed had caught the dwarf's attention.

"There are three less elves in Rivendell to badger you now, son of Glóin," Legolas said, "And soon, one more shall depart, on long road with a dark ending."

"Well, that is a pity indeed, son of Thranduil, for now I shall be saddled with your constant company, if you too have been selected to escort the halfling." Gimli smoothed his beard, trying to conceal his smile beneath. "I have been informed that I shall be honoured to accompany him as well."

Legolas nodded, his heart laughing though his face was calm. "Longer now than it might have seemed, at least the road will be more entertaining , for I foresee many good arguments in my future."

Gimli's face darkened, for sobriety and depression had not lifted from him entirely. "This is no light matter, and I shall not be baited into debates for the amusement of an Elf!" he said gruffly.

"That is well, for as serious as this errand is, I will see little humour and light beyond the hoping for success, and that is a wan star. But to do nothing is to defeat one's self, and the Enemy's victory would come too easily. And I give nothing easily, save my loyalty to Frodo Baggins."

"In that, we are agreed."


	15. Chapter 15 Farewell We Call

**Tree and Stone**

**XV **

**Farewell We Call**

The days crept forward to the hour of departure—and yet seemed to fly past, also. Too little time for those who had dear ones that would be left behind; too short for they who were stepping blindly toward darkness. Those named companions set themselves early to prepare, then had to endure long anticipation, often feeling great loneliness even amid the fellowship in the Hall of Fire.

Legolas was impatient. So long already had nothing been done and the world seemed to deteriorate around him. He did not wish to rush the venture, but he longed for action still. To move, to fight, even to run would be a relief to him, rather than sitting and watching the fear grow in faces around him, and the shadows lengthening.

The wood elf dwelled for long days on the practice ranges, spending arrow after arrow, until his targets were utterly destroyed. His temper became so short that he avoided speaking, and only appeared for the evening meals to dine with the Companions. Aragorn noticed his mood, but he was involved in a struggle of his own and could offer no assistance other than stalwart friendship.

The time crept by for Gimli as well, now alone in his chambers after his father had departed; he and the Dwarven contingent had gone back to Erebor. To fill the endless hours he honed his axes and sang in his echoing chamber the ballads and histories of his people. The hobbits came often to keep him company and he sat with them at mealtimes, enjoying their simple jests and appetites.

His respect for Frodo Baggins increased with every meeting. The hobbit was very much as Glóin had described Bilbo, Frodo's uncle; he was more like Bilbo than Bilbo was himself. He was quiet and attentive when listening to song or conversation, mirthful and merry in voice and manner, polite and correct and yet also honest and direct. He seemed to know the words to every song played, and could tell a tale rousing or hilarious upon asking. The Elves adored him and often drew him into the Hall of Fire after meals, when he could be pried from Bilbo's side for a few moments.

Yet he was also unlike Bilbo. He was more reserved in his storytelling, especially involving himself and his companion's recent adventures. He reduced his own valour or bravery and enlarged upon rather the involvement of his kindred and the deeds of the Dúnadan, taking as little credit to himself as possible for any accomplishments. He did this subtly, so that no protest could be voiced and he took pleasure in the proud glow in his friends' faces.

As merry and cavalier as he was, Gimli could still see that Frodo was concerned about the journey ahead, and that he eagerly filled his waking hours with cheer and pleasantries to avoid thinking about that dark road. Gimli never saw Frodo when he wasn't well attired and presentable, but there was little Samwise could do to conceal his master's eyes, dark-smudged from troubled sleep. Nor could he quiet the soft sound of pacing that whispered through the stone floors of Imladris from the Ring-bearer's chamber, as nightly he felt the growing fear and danger that reared up from the East and spoke to him through the chill winds of the hopelessness of his quest.

Gimli could hear the murmuring of the stones of Rivendell, which rang with history and echoed with long years' tales. Though it was not in words that the speech of the Earth came to his understanding, the Dwarf could tell where and which direction a given individual walked, if he was familiar with their gait or location, so long as their feet brushed the stone. He could hear the vibration of breath, smell the dampness that spoke of morning. He felt the slow formation of crystals buried deep within the granite; alive as no living beast or plant was alive, and yet growing and possessing slow thought, containing hope for the failing of the darkness.

At last the day ordained arrived, and that evening they assembled in the courtyard to take their leave. Legolas' impatience now left him feeling unprepared. He stood for long moments in his chambers feeling that he was forgetting something important, but he knew this fear for what it was. He hurried out and down the steps of the House to find that others had preceded him.

Sam was standing next to a sturdy pony, stroking the little horse's nose and speaking softly to him. Meriadoc and Peregrin were also there, sitting on their packs and speaking with Gimli. Boromir stood nearby, slightly apart from the others. Legolas realized then he had seen little of this Man in the weeks since the council, and in those few times he had noted him, he was ever in Aragorn's company. Elrond had gently reprimanded him for winding his horn before the onset of their journey, and since then he had remained silent, though his manner was proud and without remorse. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground before his feet, closing and opening his hand over the hilt of his long sword.

On the steps Legolas found the Ranger and the Ring-bearer. Frodo was standing beside his uncle; Bilbo was wrapped in a blanket, for the evening had grown very chill. Aragorn sat on the steps with his head bowed. Of Gandalf there was no sign.

Legolas gravitated toward the Hobbits and the Dwarf. Their conversation was light and general, touching upon nothing of their eminent journey. Though uncertainty and fear were in the faces of the halflings, they set that aside. They would not remain in security while their cousin walked open-eyed into danger. They greeted Legolas, now at ease in the tall Elf's company. He nodded in return and stood nearby, not joining their speech but listening.

The evening deepened and the Hobbit's chattering faded. Boromir shuffled his feet. Though truly only minutes passed, it seemed a time intolerably long before Gandalf finally appeared, coming out of the House. Elrond was with him, and he called them to come forward out of the grey shadows and hear his final words.

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid…"

Gimli listened to the Half-Elf's words, and his pride was stirred when Elrond spoke of strength of hearts and roads unforeseen. "Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," he said.

"Maybe," said Elrond, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall." Elrond turned aside each of Gimli's protests gently and refused to bind the Fellowship with any word of his. He blessed them and bade them farewell, and Bilbo stuttered with the cold, his eyes on the pale face of his nephew.

Frodo bowed to Elrond and turned slowly away, his eyes seeming to search over the House and the fair valley as if to commit it all to his memory, before he took a step on the road he knew had no returning. He was clad in his faded travel garments again, mended by the skill of the elves and yet still stained from his previous adventure. At his side hung a small sword of an Elvish design.

He walked slowly, the other companions falling in behind him. Voices called soft words of farewell, but Frodo did not seem to hear them. His eyes were downcast and he moved forward until he became a grey shadow, lost in the twilight.

Legolas saluted Elrond before turning away, catching a vision of Arwen standing in the open doorway of the house. Her fair face was full of hope, even if her eyes were wet with tears. Seeing her in her sadness caught his heart, and he, too, lowered his eyes and watched the path that led them away.

The tardy winter seemed to arrive as they left the valley. The wind blew from the east as if daring them to come forth, and the dark clouds overhead were being snagged and shredded by its relentless fingers. Behind them, the Valley of Imladris lay silent, its songs withheld as if robbed of breath.


	16. Chapter 16 Tales of Trees

**XVI**

**Tales of Trees**

They journeyed south and the wind seemed to wish to drive them backward with its breath. None of the companions complained; they plodded onward and, if at all, made the off-handed remark, ever in a whispered voice, of a pleasure or comfort they missed. The halflings suffered the most, though they did not slack their efforts or fall behind until they were very weary. They buoyed each other with cheerful words and jests, even as they limped or tightened their belts. Legolas felt a great admiration for them.

Especially for Frodo. He uttered no word of desire or need, but allowed himself to be guided forward, putting all of his energy into keeping up with the long stride of Aragorn and Mithrandir. His eyes were often down-cast, watching the rough road, but on clear nights he looked up at the stars, and to Legolas' eyes he seemed to shine faintly with that light, even as one of his own people might.

What Legolas himself missed the most once the journey began was not hot food or smooth drink, but trees and the company of other Elves. He had gone on ventures before; alone, stealthful missions where he had risked his life without aid, for his King and father, as well as dangerous errands in the company of the guard. But he had not traveled with other races before, and never with such a mixed group. He became aware quickly of their limitations, and it brought him worry at first.

And nowhere had he traveled before where there were no trees. Even the desolation of the Dragon had offered small copses of worried shrubs and wind-bitten pines, with the leafy sea of Mirkwood on the verdant horizon.

Like all Eldar, Legolas did not need to sleep, not as Men or Halflings or Dwarves needed it. To lie helpless and without senses seemed a dangerous and foolish past time to the Elf. Legolas could rest even as he walked the lands, his mind dwelling on peaceful things while his eyes and ears and nose served him in vigilance. When the first day came and lots were drawn for watches, Legolas drew first sleep.

He laughed. "I have no need to lie in the dust. Let another take such rest as they need and I will watch instead."

Gandalf came to him and spoke softly. "We must each become accustomed to the needs and responsibilities of this Companionship. The young hobbits look up to you. They will try to be as tireless and brave as we bigger folk appear to them. I fear they will exhaust themselves trying to match your example. Lie down and take a rest, though you need it not, at least until they grow used to our differences."

"As you wish, Mithrandir." Legolas did lie down, and though his eyes were unclosed and he listened sharply to every moment of the passing hours, he also thought about what this journey would do to the hobbits. A great change would be wrought upon each, even if they met no hardship greater than distance. The thought of what might be encountered chilled his heart.

After that day he watched the hobbits closely, trying to learn more of their ways. He noticed that the youngest one, Peregrin, fairly bubbled with energy and curiosity, and needed more food than any of his companions. Like a hummingbird he was, always fluttering. Legolas would slip small portions of his own rations to the hobbit, stealfully so as to be unnoticed by the others; except by the sharp-eyed Aragorn whom the Elf had noted was doing a similar thing for Frodo, by way of Samwise. Frodo's strength had to be kept up, for his road would be the hardest.

Legolas could not even envision it. He knew the hobbit intended to carry out his task, even as terrified as he was, but the Elf could not see him going through with it. Deep in his heart, Legolas believed that the journey would end the brave ring-bearer and that one of his cousins would have to step forward into his place. Why else send three more on this venture?

Legolas kept this fatalistic belief to his private thoughts. He had seen great things done with no more magic than hope, and he would not deal a wounding word to those who were still capable of faith. Yet it tore at his heart to watch them sitting around after a long march, their faces pinched with weariness, laughing quietly at Pippin's antics or as Merry told a humourous tale. How long would they live out here in the wild lands without Aragorn and himself to watch over them? And the Man from the South.

Legolas once thought that the greatest burden he would bear on this journey would be his endurance of a Dwarf's company, but it was Boromir that gave Legolas the most annoyance. Proud, as if he had invented the concept, never did he pass up the opportunity to tell the Companion about his beloved city. White walls and white towers; silver, black, and grey; Legolas was not impressed by such descriptions. Where was the life, that which was protected, was watched over? Why did they fight in Minas Tirith, if they had only stone and granite tombs kept there? Never spoke him of a garden or a tree. Never, that is, until one night when the inquisitive Took asked him about the design on his bracers and the Man's answer caught Legolas' unfocused attention.

"The White Tree of Gondor? Have you heard nothing of it in your small country? You are isolated, indeed!" Boromir began. Legolas was grateful that it was still too dark for his companions to see his disgust at the Man's condescending words. "It grows in the court of the King... or grew, rather. It died the same year as Belecthor II, Steward of the Citadel, and no sapling could be found to replace it. It still stands in the court, bowed sadly over the pool, waiting for the return of the King." Boromir's eyes flicked to the dark Ranger that sat some feet away, watching the lightening sky.

"But why was no sapling found?" asked Peregrin, still curious. He had bade the Man remove his armoured sleeve so that he could look at it more closely. Placing it on his own arm, it looked ridiculously large. Merry traced the embossed leather with a curious finger.

"Many years lie between the planting of that tree from its predecessor. It is said that it came from a scion of the White Tree in Númenor. Isildur brought a fruit from that sacred tree and planted it in Minas Ithil. From that tree a seedling was brought to Minas Tirith, after the Dark Lord captured that fair city and burned the tree. He planted it in memory of his brother Anarion. It is the symbol of our people. It is said," and here Boromir touched Aragorn again with his eyes briefly, "that when the true King returns to Gondor, the tree will bloom again."

"That will be a relief, I am sure!" remarked Pippin, yawning sleepily. "I would much prefer a living symbol than a dead one! What?" Pippin winced as Merry elbowed him. "Oh! No offense, Lord Boromir!" The halfling hastened to rise and bow, but Boromir merely laughed.

"There is no offense taken, Pippin," the man said. "You speak in weariness and innocence. When you look upon the Citadel and the Court of the King, you will understand. May we all look upon it soon, and may I dream of my White City tonight!" and Boromir rolled himself in his blanket, taking first sleep as was his lot.

Legolas had nearly laughed aloud at the halfling's remark, so close to his own thoughts. The conversations faded as each companion fell asleep, except for Legolas and Gimli whose lots were to watch together this night.


	17. Chapter 17 Companionable Silence

**XVII**

**Companionable Silence  
**  
Day eased over the land like a grey fog, dropping dew over all that slumbered and watched. Legolas was refreshed by the cool touch of moisture, but Gimli grumbled and flipped up his hood. He eyed the Elf as if daring him to make a remark. Legolas said nothing, turning this way and that to scan the horizon for movement.

The hours wore on but the day got no warmer. As they had drawn closer to the three mighty peaks that Gandalf had declared were their landmarks, the wind seemed to bring down the winter with a fury. This day the wind seemed a little less, but just as cold.

Legolas looked toward where the hobbits lay sleeping. Building fires was ill-advised as the smoke would be visible for great distances in this open country, so the halflings had spread their blankets together and slept close to each other, keeping one another warm with their own bodies. Their cloaks and spare clothes were draped over them, but still they shivered a little, their faces bitten pink by the teething wind. Legolas cast a glance toward the Dwarf, who appeared to be gazing steadfastly away to the east, toward the mountains. Legolas unclasped his cloak and spread it over the hobbits to give them extra comfort.

Frodo's eyes opened as he felt the light touch of the Elven cloak cover him. He looked up into Legolas's face, offering a small smile of gratitude. Peregrin snuggled more closely to his older cousin on one side, while on the other, Samwise gave a gentle snore, his head on Frodo's shoulder.

Legolas bowed slightly, holding up a hand to warn Frodo not to wake the others. His soft voice was as smooth lullaby as he said, "Return to your needed rest, Bearer. The sun is just past the hour of dawn-greeting. There are many hours still to be counted before the next watch is called. Sleep again." Frodo nodded gratefully and closed his eyes. As his face smoothed into slumber again, Legolas saw that light shining within the Ring Bearer, as a candle shaded by a veil of water or a star viewed through a thin cloud.

Legolas resumed his watch over the land. There was no movement anywhere but the teasing of the grass by the sleepless wind. Not even a bird could be seen, and the winter had driven all insects deep into the earth. The quiet was absolute.

Gimli found the silence nearly maddening. As he watched, he spoke to himself inside his head, reciting the lines of the Fathers of the Dwarves as he had learned them at his father's knee. He crouched upon a high stone, where he could see all around, and to the casual observer would have appeared as a stone himself, until that observer got dangerously close to him. He carefully watched the camp and listened, for he knew his eyes were not so sharp as that dratted Elf, yet his ears could hear things just as sharply. But the only sounds he harked of nearby were the gentle breaths of the Companions in sleep, and the whine of the wind off of the mountains.

This wind did speak to the Dwarf, in a fashion that even the Elf could not understand. For stone and mountains were Gimli's folk, and he knew their languages well. What that wind spoke to him left him uneasy, and he shifted to cast his glances toward the mountains in the east and south more often; he had a feeling of being watched, of a groping intelligence, that was gradually growing in his mind.

"What is it?"

The Elf's soft words startled the Dwarf so violently he nearly lost his perch. Legolas laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, which Gimli glared at until he removed it.

"Can you not sense it?" he responded gruffly, but in a whisper. "The wind warns of hunger, of wary eyes. I smell tainted stone upon it... and blood."

"I have sensed something similar, but I cannot discover the direction it comes from." The Elf's eyes contained no humility or hubris; theirs was the watch. Theirs was the duty to protect their helpless companions.

"It comes from the east, from where we are bound," answered Gimli. "It is far away still, but as we draw closer, it will become more apparent. I warrant even your green nose will smell it by the time we reach those foothills," Gimli could not resist offering this small barb.

Legolas gave him a cool smile. "I am pleased to hear that we are in no immediate danger, other than being bored by the humour of a Dwarf. I will continue my vigilance... over there." Legolas walked away from Gimli.

Both Elf and Dwarf felt that they had the better of the exchange, so the argument was abandoned for a time. As the sun reached zenith, Legolas woke Aragorn and Merry, whose lot were next to watch. Legolas lay himself down next to Peregrin where Merry had been sleeping, keeping the small hobbit warm in his cousin's stead. Gimli laid himself happily against the stone where he had watched, aware that his tendency to snore might disturb the others.

After the Dwarf had fallen asleep Aragorn covered him with his cloak and took his vantage point. Very often, his gaze fixed on the mountains toward the east. He, too, sensed something waiting.


	18. Chapter 18 Hollin's Lament

**XVIII**

**Hollin's Lament**

For a fortnight they traveled thus, walking through the darkness behind Aragorn and Gandalf, who seemed to know each tussock and stone of this land. The hobbits stayed between the taller folk, sometimes linking hands on the moonless nights, when the darkness grew blinding. Gimli walked before them mostly, his sharp ears open for any sound of danger, his walking-ax in his hand. Boromir came behind the hobbits with Legolas at the rearguard. The Elf could not see in the dark, not as his namesake in ancient days could, but nevertheless his sight was keen and he could see fairly well beneath even a grudging moon and a few stars.

On this night the wrack of clouds that flew swiftly overhead, borne on that ill-feeling wind, finally broke and melted away. The sun rose on a clear morning as the travelers stumbled to the crest of a low ridge. Cold as it was, the vision of the ancient holly trees still living and growing was a welcome sight to them all. Legolas ran his hands over their grey-green trunks, stroking with delight the dark leaves that hung down sprinkled with clusters of berries in deadly red.

The mountains rose sharply up on their left, marching off to disappear into the distance both west and east. Immediately at hand were three massive peaks which dominated their crowded brethren, the largest and nearest seeming to glow red where the rising sun touched it. A great mantle of snow covered it and flowed far down its sides.

Gandalf named the land they had reached Hollin, and gave a brief history for the benefit of the hobbits and Boromir. Legolas knew some of story already, as did Gimli. To Legolas, the tales of the elves that had once dwelled there was a sad story that was sang on winter's evenings. To the Dwarf, it was a kind of homecoming.

Gimli spoke the names of the peaks in his own language, forgetting that he was accompanied by non-Dwarves. "Baraz, Zirak, Shathûr... only once before have I seen them from afar in waking life..." he murmured. Then he spoke of that dark place that lay beneath that mightiest mountain, and as his eyes glowed with fervor and desire, he did not see that many of his Companions winced to hear that name spoken aloud, including the bearer of the Ring.

"What is it, Frodo," whispered Merry, who was standing next to his cousin as they gazed across the land. "We should get down from out of this wind and get some rest. I'm shivering, too."

"It's not that, Merry," Frodo answered softly, still staring at the ruddy peak. "I just have a strange feeling... a dreadful feeling..."

Legolas was alos experiencing a strange awareness. Though Gandalf spoke of the Elves who had once dwelled there, the green elf could not feel them as he could feel the presence of his folk in other places where they had once dwelled. It had been too long and too much hurt had come to that place; the trees and grasses did not remember them anymore. Only the stones spoke of them, lamenting.

"'They are gone,'" Legolas said softly. "They sought the Havens long ago."

⌂

All the travelers were relieved to hear Gandalf announce that they would rest all through this day and following night. A fire was lit and a warm meal prepared; the first in many long days. Seeing the cheer of the hobbits, Legolas laid aside his grief for Hollin and enjoyed their carefree laughter. Soon everyone was in a better humour, even the dour Boromir.

The Man had finally discovered something he could do to contribute to the welfare of the Companions, and his humour improved immediately. After their meal he set about instructing the halflings on proper handling and use of their weapons. Here at last he could show the skill and nobility for which his people were renowned. He rallied the hobbits into a circle.

Legolas and Aragorn watched them with interest, as Gimli and Gandalf took up the guard. Though both Elf and Ranger could have offered much information and advice, they remained silent, letting the Warrior instruct his class.

First, Boromir showed them how to hold their swords. In his great hands, the leaf-shaped blades appeared merely as long knives, but he instructed the hobbits as he would young Men; how to grip the pommel, how to move the wrist. Soon he had all four standing in first position, the tips of the swords of Westerness gleaming red, while Sting gave off a glimmer like a star.

Frodo listened intently to Boromir, but soon he begged to fall out of ranks, for his weariness had caught up with him. Sam saw him settled as comfortably as possible, then rejoined Merry and Pippin. The little gardener looked very unsure as he swung his barrow-blade to mirror the other's movements. He kept dropping his sword. Boromir was surprisingly patient with him, and soon he was keeping up with the other two, even if gracefulness was perhaps ever beyond his ken.

Aragorn rose and wandered off during the lesson, becoming restless of the quietude of the land. He climbed the ridge and stood beside a tree for a long hour, just looking and listening. Legolas watched him with one eye, noting how like an Elf that Man could move; silent, swift, and light. When he returned, he spoke to them of the listening silence of the land, and the troublesome lack of beasts and birds. Gandalf then bade them cease speaking aloud and to rest. The watch was set and the others joined Frodo in sleep.

Legolas lay watching the movement of the holly trees in the wind, letting his mind recall the whispering of the beeches in his woodland home far away. The silence that Aragorn spoke of was clear to the Elf, and as he listened deeper, past the sounds of the sleepers and the restless watchers, the ground beneath them seemed to breathe a sorrowful song. Legolas let the sound take his attention fully, as Aragorn was watching with Sam. This song he heard, from lips of stone and voices of ash:

_Whither have gone the Folk?  
Why do the vales echo hollow?  
The holly grows still on the borders,  
The grasses sigh to feel the passage of their feet  
Where are the wandering waters?  
Why do we hear no more songs?  
Can we have been forgotten by those who once loved us so?_

_Deep they delved us  
Fair they wrought us  
High they builded us;  
But they are gone  
Gone..._

The silence was crushing. Legolas stood and walked to the holly trees. Beneath their branches he intended to wait until it was time to move on, taking some small comfort that they sang no longer of their loss.


	19. Chapter 19 Too Quiet

**XIX**

**Too Quiet**

Frodo woke at mid-day with Sam's gentle voice in his ear, urging him to eat a little before taking some more rest. He sat up with a sigh, stretching muscles still sore from the long marches, now cramped and made more uncomfortable by sleeping on the cold ground. Sam had water and bread for him, and some of the meat left over from the morning meal.

As Frodo ate, he noted the stillness of the land again; it seemed to throw back the slightest noise that any of the Company made. Frodo tried to chew more quietly.

Sam chattered in a whisper to his master. "You should have seen us, sir! Swingin' swords and standin' in line...Mr. Boromir said we looked... what was the word he used... forbiddable?"

Frodo smiled gently. "Are you sure he didn't say 'formidable'?"

"Yeah, that's the word... We must have been very formidable, 'cause Mr. Merry near took Mr. Pippin's head clean off... missed by just a bit, an' his hair's a little shorter on that side, now... Mr. Boromir was rather vexed, I can tell you..."

Frodo listened to his friend's talk, but his eyes roved over the camp. He noted the silhouette of Legolas sitting beneath one of the holly trees back up on the ridge, nearly invisible against the grey-green bark. Frodo was actually surprised that he had seen him at all.

"What is Legolas doing sitting up there all alone?" Frodo asked, when Sam paused again for a breath.

"I dunno, Mr. Frodo. He wandered up there a bit ago. I reckon he misses his home, sir. He's been awfully upset lately... I guess we all kind have been. But between him and Mr. Gimli, I figure..." Sam pauses and turned rather red. "Sorry, Mr. Frodo. I'm speaking outside of my place again."

Frodo looked at Sam with a small smile. "I would like to hear what you think, Sam."

"Well," Sam glanced around first, then lowered his voice so that Frodo could barely hear him. "I just wonder, sir, what it is that those two _aren't_ talkin' about. They act as though the other isn't even here... I thought at first that they were angry at each other, but now they act more like they are very sad. They seemed happier, sir, when they were fightin'… like back in Rivendell."

Frodo glanced toward where Gimli lay sleeping against a great stone. "I am sure that they will be all right, Sam. If only we can get them to realize how much they are needed, before they decide to leave us."

"D'you think they'd really leave, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his eyes a bit wide.

"Why would they stay when they are so unhappy? Lord Elrond said that they would come with us as far as the mountain pass, and we are nearly there."

"Well, sir, I'm not jumpin' for joy to be here m'self, but I'm not going nowhere that yer not going!"

"I know, Sam... thank you." Frodo smiled at his friend, only a little sad. He could see Gandalf and Aragorn sitting together, carrying on some quiet debate. "I feel bad, that they have come so far on my behalf, when clearly they wish to be elsewhere."

"There ain't a'one of us here who didn't come of his own decision, Mr. Frodo. Don't go beatin' yerself up about that again! My Gaffer always says, 'Them that fight with themselves always lose!' Maybe that is what Mr. Legolas and Mr. Gimli need, sir... someone to fight with besides each other."

Frodo looked darkly toward the sharp red mountain beyond the fogged-distant hills. "That's what I fear, Sam—it's going to happen much sooner than I'd like to see."

⌂

Aragorn joined Legolas beneath the hollys. The Elf's long grey eyes were still restlessly scanning the eerily quiet lands. They stood together for a time in silence, but Legolas could feel some emotion building within his companion, like the tension on an over-drawn bow.

"What is it, Dunadan?" the Elf asked. "Do you see or feel some danger that eludes my senses? I find this quiet unsettling as well!"

Aragorn sighed, shifting his feet slightly. "The quiet lands give me unrest, _elhiru_, but this is not the silence that troubles me most." Legolas looked at him curiously. "It is the frozen air between you and the Dwarf that concerns me, my friend."

Legolas's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "I have made much effort to avoid conflict with that one, as my Lord Elrond did bid me! I have set aside my argument and my pride!"

"You have done as you promised, Legolas," Aragorn spoke soothingly. "But tolerance alone will not bind this rag-tag band into a fellowship."

Legolas regarded Aragorn evenly. "Say plainly what you mean, Lord. What more of myself must I discard to serve the Company?"

"Nothing, Legolas! You should not think of it so. I ask merely that you speak to Gimli, for this thing that divides you affects us all."

Heat flared inside Legolas's heart, and his words were sharp though still very soft, "I cannot speak with that one without his bladed tongue fencing against me, as ready as his keenest ax! His remarks lead me back to my own anger and a wish to dispel his pride! It is all I can do to keep my temper in check and do nothing!"

"Then perhaps you should not 'do nothing', Legolas. My friend, you see and hear how the hobbits jest with one another, debating comically their oldest arguments? Even Gandalf, who is wise and venerable, partakes in the barbed quip on occasion! But for you and Gimli, these remarks cannot reach through the walls you have built, fending each other away. We who are also your companions... we cannot scale those walls!"

Aragorn took Legolas's shoulder in a gentle grip. "Can you speak to him as you do to me when I show my mortal follies? Delivered with a smile rather than a sneer, it may do much to heal the weariness of this dark journey."

"I... I will try, Aragorn," Legolas said, bowing his head. He looked up with a glint in his eye, one corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. "I pray that the axes of Gimli are less sharp than his tongue, if this experiment goes awry!"

"Just relax a little, and do not keep your comments singly upon the Dwarf," Aragorn smiled. "You may shoot your barbs at me as well. Should I come into my destiny through this darkness and doubt, I swear I shall not grudge you, my friend!"

⌂

"Let me see if I am understanding you correctly, Gandalf," said Gimli incredulously. "You _**want**_ me to fight with the Elf?"

The Wizard was sitting on a stone, drawing on his pipe. He took it out of his mouth and exhaled a fragrant cloud. "Not to fight, necessarily, my good Dwarf! I think that the two of you should air your differences-- your differences are not so different, after all-- don't keep them bottled up! Your anger would be less, as well as all of our tension, if the two of you would but speak more easily to one another. It isn't required that you agree on everything, but that you don't disagree each other to death."

"... And this will alleviate our frustration, rather than increase it?" Gimli asked doubtfully.

"I guarantee it," Gandalf said with confidence, tucking his pipe back into his mouth.

The Dwarf expelled his breath in a labial utterance. "Very well, Gandalf... I am wearing a mail-shirt, after all... though what good that will prove against Elven arrows, I am sure I will learn swiftly!"

Gandalf merely smiled and puffed on his pipe.


	20. Chapter 20 A Murder of Crows

**XX **

**A Murder of Crows **

Later that afternoon, it became clear that the Companions were not the only living things in Eregion.

Sam was on watch as the others slept. Gimli and Legolas still kept their own council, mulling over the words of their trusted friends, drifting into distraction and somnolence. Gandalf finished his pipe and lay down to sleep.

Aragorn lay wakeful, unable to take his rest in this strange unquiet place. Soon he rose and joined Sam, and together they listened as the quiet deepened, until the wind itself seemed hushed and anxious. Sam harked and looked about, conscious of the sounds made by his own joints. He began to think his mind was finally going funny-- he was seeing spots swirling before his eyes! He stuck his knuckles in them and looked again. The spots were still there, but now there were more of them.

"Strider, what..." Sam began to say, but Aragorn was aware. He hushed Sam and urged him to lie flat on the ground. Sam dove to the earth, his heart pounding. From where he lay, he could see Frodo clearly. His master's eyes were open, and his face was pale and rigid with fear.

Legolas saw the birds, also. He did not at first realize that what he was seeing was real. As it was not his watch, and Aragorn had bade him take some manner of rest, he had climbed one of the holly trees and was dreaming in its branches, revisiting a memory from his youth.

One day, many long years ago, Legolas had found one of the largest, oldest oak trees in the north of Mirkwood Forest. It was a vast tree—or trees, rather; four huge trunks had grown and joined together, raising many branches high into the sky; a ladder of straight limbs walled by a thick canopy of leaves. He had climbed to the very top, where he had discovered a peaceful, emerald world ruled by Emperor butterflies, robed in hues of black, purple, and indigo. They had filled the sky above the trees, fanning and vaning in an intricate chaotic dance. It had been mesmerizing to the young Elf.

The black specks on the horizon that danced before his eyes now were not butterflies or moths, as he came to know swiftly. Before he could call out, he saw Aragorn and Sam dive to the ground. Legolas froze, becoming as part of the tree in which he sat.

The flock birds passed overhead in a dark wave, dense with malign intellect. As they wheeled about and passed again, there came the sound of a single harsh croak-- it sounded like a dry, chuckling laugh. Away to the north the wave swept, still dipping and diving this way and that, until it disappeared into the distance.

When Legolas saw Aragorn raise his head, he leaped down from his perch and hurried to the camp. The Man was giving the halfling a hand up out of the dust.

Samwise was trembling from head to toes. "What was that?" he asked. He looked up and all around, half expecting for the sky to come diving down at him again.

Legolas caught Aragorn's eye, murmuring, _"Crebain."_

"Spies from Dunland and Fangorn." Aragorn looked very grim. He went to wake Gandalf and report this ill news. Legolas watched Sam as he attempted to comfort Frodo, even though the little gardener was shaking like a new leaf himself.

"I'm all right, Sam," Legolas hear Frodo say softly. "Don't wake the others. The danger seems to have passed, and they are exhausted."

"As are you, Mr. Frodo," Sam muttered. "Try to sleep some more, sir. I am watching, and Strider is here."

'I am here, too,' Legolas thought but did not say aloud. He reflected again upon the things that Aragorn had told him. Was he really here? His mind was often far away. Legolas knew he should have seen those crows long before they had found them.

Legolas knelt beside Frodo and Sam. "I have rested enough this day. Samwise, you take some rest with your master, and I shall stand nearby."

Aragorn and Gandalf had come up as he said this. Gandalf agreed, "Legolas speaks wisely. Rest now, Samwise, and Frodo, you should try to rest some more, too. We must press on again as soon as it is dark, I fear. If Hollin is being watched, then it shall also be so of the Redhorn Gate, and how we will cross it unseen, I have no idea." Gandalf looked very serious and tired as he said this.

When the sleeping companions wakened late that afternoon, the news was given that they had another night-march to face. Pippin was very disappointed, and Merry was silent. Gimli cast his eyes up to the sky, then followed the horizon to the peak that was their goal, red Caradhras gleaming in the westering sun.

Gimli had said nothing since he woke. He was concerned about these winged spies that Aragorn spoke of, and he was still pondering the words of Gandalf in his mind. The hobbits were worried, and Gandalf and Aragorn had moved aside to whisper in their ongoing debate. To the Dwarf, there seemed nothing to discuss. He wished that they could move onward now, but Gandalf insisted on waiting for nightfall.

At the bottom of a gulley Gimli found a dry, wide dell, overgrown with juniper, which was large enough for all the hobbits to hide inside. He sat there with them, listening as they whispered to each other of the things they missed from home, comforts now a hundred leagues or more behind them. Gandalf and Aragorn were watching the sky intently, and Legolas was perched nearby, watching over the hobbits but blending into the greenery so as to be nearly invisible.

Gimli was aware of him where he stood, as silent and still as a young sapling. Gimli wondered how he would be able to keep his promise to Gandalf to try to speak to the Elf. He could think of nothing he wanted to say to him that did not sound as though he was trying to incite an argument.

The sun was perhaps an hour above the horizon when Pippin suddenly said, "I am so weary of crouching and hiding! I wish I had a hide like an Elf! Legolas, I can barely see you standing there!"

Legolas dropped to a knee and favoured the young hobbit with a gentle smile. "You are yourself nearly impossible to perceive, master perian..." Legolas hesitated, then decided to try out some of Aragorn's advice, "... when you manage to remain quiet for a time!"

The hobbits stared at him for a moment, then looked at each other, amazed. Then, as one, they burst into laughter, covering their mouths with hands or cloak to stifle the sound before it carried.

Frodo dashed tears from his eyes, chortling softly. "He got you on that one, Pip!"

Pippin was grinning, though his cheeks were flushed slightly. He bowed his head toward Legolas, who nodded in return, smiling to see that his remark had not insulted the hobbit.

Gimli was listening, and at first he had felt angry at Legolas's remark. The laughter of the hobbits had stopped his outraged comment. Why was he so angry? If Aragorn or Gandalf had said as much (and they each had made similar comments before, as the littlest hobbit did have the tendency to chatter somewhat) he would have laughed also. In fact, a similar comment had crossed Gimli's mind, but the Elf had spoken up more quickly!

Before he could persuade himself not to, the Dwarf spoke in turn, "Aye, master Peregrin! Your camouflage is even better than that of Legolas, for if the crows were to return, they might think our Master Elf is a tree himself, and attempt to nest in his arms!"

The hobbits laughed again, half at Gimli's words and half at the stunned look on Legolas's face. Was that an insult or a compliment, what the Dwarf had said? Sam was biting the heel of his hand, trying to subdue his fit of giggles. Tired as he was, he had not expected to overhear a word-duel between an Elf and a Dwarf.

"You are right, Master Dwarf," Legolas said. "Would that I could blend into the stones and soil, with the skill of Dwarves or Halflings, for then I would only need fear badgers making a burrow in my lap!"

Merry was now hiccupping, covering his eyes with his hands. The word 'badgers' seemed to set him off, and he gasped a little and laughed behind his closed lips. His face was very red.

Gimli looked upon the hobbits and grinned, his beard wagging. "We should let them be, Legolas. If they laugh anymore, I fear that they will split their hides. We ought to let them sleep."

"Yes," agreed Legolas. "Sleep now, jolly ones. I shall stand and look a little less like a tree, and Gimli will endeavor to look somewhat less like a rock, lest we fall asleep ourselves and be left behind come dusk."

The hobbits did settle down, with only an occasional snorting giggle, and were soon asleep. Their faces were smiling and they were comfortable, as it was now warmer in the dell; a reprieve from the cold.


	21. Chapter 21 Of Rice and Wild Rabbits

**XXI**

**Of Rice and Wild Rabbits**

Before the Companions set out that evening, Gandalf called a council. He explained that the path through the mountains was likely already being watched and therefore even more dangerous. He and Aragorn had discussed their other option, to cross Enedwaith to the Gap of Rohan, but they had decided that it was unwise to take the Ring so close to Isenguard.

This news had not set well with Boromir, but he accepted their decision after saying his piece. Legolas listened to the Wizard speak and wondered what it was he was_ not_ saying.

The night march was more difficult than usual; the land was more broken and there was no path. Sam walked behind Frodo, one hand on his master's shoulder, the other holding Bill's lead rope. Gimli kept Merry and Pippin in front of him. Legolas followed at the rear of their column.

When dawn came, they found they had made little headway; the mountains seemed no closer than when they had set out at dusk. Depressed and tired, they settled for the day beneath a row of scraggly trees on the edge of a wide bowl. Down at the bottom of this bowl ran a trickle of a stream surrounded by wild rice, the blades now brown and dry in the season. Aragorn set Merry and Gimli to watch and drew Legolas aside.

"We might find a bit of game here, hiding in the grasses. I shall work my way through the stream-course and try to flush out a rabbit or two. Will you keep your bow handy and bring down what escapes me? Just be sure that it is not _**I **_you bring down!"

Legolas laughed. "We have hunted together before, Estel. If I did not shoot you then, it in unlikely that I shall do so now."

Legolas knelt in the grasses and waited, his eyes keen for movement in the grey and brown rushes. He could hear Aragorn, for though the Man was moving stealthfully, he was making deliberate noises to startle into movement whatever animals might be hiding in the tall weeds. The bow in the Elf's hands was strung with an arrow notched and ready. He held them loosely.

Very near to Legolas's location the grasses suddenly rustled, and the Elf drew the bow and turned, ready to release the shaft at what sounded like a very large animal. He gasped and shot the arrow into the soil before his feet, barely moving his hands in time.

Samwise Gamgee stood with his eyes round as saucers, staring at the quivering arrow in the ground at his feet. In one hand he held a rabbit, from the other dangled a snare of woven reeds. His face was white as milk.

"Master Samwise! Forgive me! Hobbits tread lightly indeed, for I nearly thought you were a rabbit yourself!" Legolas pulled the arrow up and knocked the dirt from the tip. "You should have warned me or Aragorn that you had gone hunting today!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Legolas," Sam said, blinking and waving the hand that held the rabbit. "I thought Mr. Frodo could do with some fresh meat a'fore we climb that big old mountain."

"That is our purpose, as well. Aragorn is working downstream to bring me game. If that is not the only rabbit that lived in this dell, we all should eat well today. Please wait here behind me, Samwise. Aragorn does not know you are here, and his arrow may fly truer than mine!"

"Yessir," Samwise squatted down behind the Elf, busying himself with repairing his snare. He was wishing he had thought to ask Mr. Elrond for some rope before they left Rivendell, when he heard a great rustling in the bushes nearby. 'That must be Mr. Strider,' he thought. Legolas had turned toward the sound, bow bent and eyes narrowed.

Out of the grasses charged—not a Ranger—but a boar! It was bigger than any Sam had ever seen; its tusks seemed a foot long, and terrifying! The hobbit fell back in surprise, too shocked even to cry out.

Legolas released his arrow and fitted and fired two more in the time it took Sam's heart to begin to beat again. The boar squealed and fell twitching in the grass.

Strider appeared, leaping over the stream and tossing two more coneys onto the ground beside Sam. He was grinning with satisfaction.

"Our companions will eat well today, my friends, and for many nights hence. Good shooting, Legolas!"

The Elf nodded, smiling. "Sometimes a marksman's skill is not measured by what he shoots at and hits," Legolas looked significantly over at Samwise, "but what he does **not** hit!"

Samwise blushed. He gathered up the coneys and mumbled, "I'll just get these cleaned up..."

Aragorn and Legolas laughed, carrying their boar between them. Tonight would be an unexpected feast!


	22. Chapter 22 Caradhras the Cruel

**XXII**

**Caradhras the Cruel **

Three night marches it took for the Companions to reach the foothills of Caradhras, and with every step winter seemed to take a firmer grip on the land. Aragorn and Gandalf continued their murmured conversation, even onto the very knees of the red mountain itself. Gimli wondered if they were discussing the route, or perhaps what dangers might be encountered; he could not quite hear what they said to one another.

As they settled down for a rest before the march that would bring them to the Redhorn Gate itself, Gimli let his thoughts take him deep under the stone of that pass, down below the frozen peak and the cloud-wreathed shoulders. The Dwarf was pleased that they had chosen to take this way, instead of the Gap of Rohan. Moria lay beneath this very mountain, the ancient home of his people, the folk of Durin. It was tantalizing, to be so close to the answers he longed to learn; they were buried like treasure beneath his very feet. Yet he knew it would not be an easy crossing, for though the sun was rising the sky looked black indeed, and the wind was growling. Also, his mind was weighed with the knowledge that the Fellowship would continue on past the Dimrill Dale, and would not wait for him to visit the halls of Khazad-dum; he would have to make his decision then: to leave the Company or go on. His heart was still divided when at mid-afternoon, after a last warm meal, they prepared to begin their climb.

All the night his thoughts had been busy. He rued that Lord Elrond did not require them to take vows upon setting out. His duty to his people was clear: to learn of Balin's fate. But his heart, his loyalty and passion, was with Frodo and the Company of the Ring. If words had then been required, oaths of fealty and honour binding him to the Quest, he could mutter and chafe as he walked past the East Gate of Moria, but his duty and honour would then be bound. Instead, he would have to choose, and live for all of his days with the result of that choice.

'Well', he thought as he combed his fingers through his beard, 'I have to climb the mountain first, before I can enter it!' But hearty as Gimli was, as steadfast and solid as any of the Dwarven race, the wintry threat in the sky was daunting; he grumbled as he shrugged his fur-lined cloak tighter around his ears. This leg of the journey would not be a comfortable one.

It was fortunate that Gandalf and Aragorn were familiar with the path, for the darkness closed heavily over them as they climbed the rough track. Just after midnight the snow finally began to fall, gentle flakes as big and fluffy as cottonseeds. Frodo paused and blinked as they swirled into his eyes, and Legolas held out a hand, catching a flake on his palm and sniffing it as if it were a flower.

Very soon the snow was coming down as thick as the night, blanketing the shoulders of the companions and piling onto their road, the wind scooping it into drifts across the path. Gandalf and Aragorn could barely be seen ahead; they paused briefly at the summit of a steep slope to allow the rest of the Company to catch them up. Gimli heard their exchange more easily, for now they had to speak loudly over the whistling wind.

"This is what I feared," Gandalf said. "What say you now, Aragorn?"

"That I feared it too, but less than other things. It is rare that snow should fall so heavily so far south, even in this season, except high up in the mountains." Aragorn shook his head, then brushed the snow from Frodo's shoulders as the hobbit stood listening to their talk. He was shivering slightly. The snow was just deep enough to cover his bare feet. Aragorn noticed then that the halflings were wearing woolen hose over their legs, though their feet were still bare, but for the thick, wooly hair that grew naturally upon them. "You must be very cold, Frodo; you and the others."

"Who is not cold, in this frigid air?" Frodo smiled up at him. "It's all right. The snow is not as bad as the wind. It seems to know how to blow right down my collar and chill my heart!" He flipped up the hood of his cloak, pulling the furry lining close around his face.

Boromir shifted his pack, sending a small shower of snow cascading down his strong arms. "I wonder if this is a contrivance of the Enemy," he said. "They say in my land that he can govern the storms in the Mountains of Shadow that stand upon the borders of Mordor. He has strange powers and many allies." The Man stamped his feet to warm himself, careful not to tread on hobbit toes.

Gimli set down his pack and the bundle of firewood he bore. All the Fellowship had brought as much wood as they could carry, for Boromir's advice had been sound. Irritably, Gimli brushed off the ice that was forming on his beard. "His arm has grown long," the Dwarf growled, "if he can draw snow down from the North to trouble us here three hundred leagues away!"

"His arm has grown long," said Gandalf. Frodo clutched his cloak tighter about him, his face turned from the biting wind.

⌂

While they were halted, the wind died down and the storm seemed to back away. But not more than a few miles had gone behind them again when the snow and icy gales returned. The strongest of them soon found the going difficult. Gimli plodded along, muttering curses against the weather as he pushed onward through what felt like a wall of ice. He couldn't image how the hobbits were enduring this; they were bent almost double, toiling against the steepness of the climb and the furious wind.

The Company halted suddenly, as if they had come to an agreement without any words being spoken. Legolas crouched on the ledge near the void, clinging to an icy stone as the wind pulled his fair hair into a halo around his head and plucked at his clothes; he was listening to the eerie noises that were echoing around them, murmuring over the wind. It sounded like wild laughter and shrill cries. A shower of stones rained down from the mountain-side, striking the path beside them. Pippin leaped back against the cliff-slope, his face white. A rock the size of his head had missed him by merely a few feet.

Boromir stepped beside him and covered him with his shield. "We cannot go further tonight," he had to shout to be heard over the gale. He gathered Merry close to his other side. "Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us!"

Aragorn led Bill under the shallow shelter of the cliff that leaned out slightly above their heads. He positioned the hobbits between the wall and the pony so that they were protected somewhat. They all gathered as close together as they could, the snow piling up all the while. The cliff-shelter gave almost no protection against the wind, and the air seemed much colder now that they had ceased to move.

Frodo was the first to be overcome. He slid down the wall onto a drift of snow, and Sam could not rouse him. Boromir was nearest; he picked the hobbit up and shook him gently, chaffing his hands and brow. Frodo's eyes fluttered open, but he did not see.

"This will be the death of the halflings, Gandalf. We must do something to save ourselves!"

"Give them this." Gandalf brought out from his pack a small leathern flask. "Just a mouthful each-- for all of us. It is very precious. It is _miruvor_, the cordial of Imladris. Elrond gave it to me at our parting."

Frodo seemed to wake as the liquor trickled down his throat, and he found within himself new strength and heart. Boromir set him down when the colour returned to his face.

Gimli accepted his share of the elvish draught with a touch of reluctance, but that melted away as the fragrant vapours of the cordial rose and thawed his nose. It lay in the mouth like a drink of fresh water, but flowed down to the belly with a fiery pulse, reaching out to the tips of the fingers and toes in a few beats of the heart. Gimli passed the flask to Legolas, who had been watching the Dwarf with a knowing smile.

"Honey from the valley of the rock," the Elf murmured, drinking from the flask with reverence. "I would wager you have not tasted such as this before, my good Dwarf, for I have myself only heard legend of such draught. The Lord of Rivendell is renowned for his wisdom and skill at healing, but for his art in brewing is he infamous in Mirkwood!"

And to that Gimli could fashion no argument. It was better than any Dwarven unguent he had ever partaken. Yet the warmth the liquor instilled did not last long, and soon they discussed the necessity of fire; secrecy was one of their few weapons, yet as Boromir had said, it would not do any good for them to be so secret that they all froze to death.

Though they had wood and kindling, starting a fire proved a challenge to even the most skillful. The wind whipped the sparks from Gimli's flint, and Legolas's deft use of the fire-bow failed to bring the fuel to burning. Gandalf was prevailed upon to use his craft; rare indeed it was for him to use his powers so obviously, and he was very reluctant. He acceded the necessity, however, and spoke in a commanding voice words that burned in Legolas's ears, and with his staff he caused flame to come forth, engulfing the wood in green and blue fire. The wood kindled instantly.

All night the Company huddled around the fire, warming their hands and enjoying the light that played across their faces. The storm continued to fall around them, outside the circle of their fire. They ignored the creeping slush beneath their feet and the howls that rang from the mountain high above.

At last, the storm relented; the snow grew less and the wind died to a whisper. The hobbits were all sunk down on the ground, wrapped in cloaks and blankets, exhausted by their ordeal. Gimli's feet felt heavy as if they were made of lead, but he uttered no complaint. They now discussed retreat; there was no thought of going on. But that retreat would now be very difficult. The snow was piled across their road higher even than Gimli's head.

It was by brute strength and brawn that the road was forged for their escape. Boromir and Aragorn went ahead, thrusting a path through the snow with no more tools than their hands and their will. Gimli watched them labouring, feeling both useless and angry that there was nothing he could do to help. He would be drowned in snow if he took a few steps from their cliff-face.

Legolas wished there was something more he could offer, as well. He had been less hampered by the cold than his companions, but the deadly wind had nearly brushed him from the mountain-side more than once. He had not the strength of the Men, that he could push aside mounds of snow and ice. Yet there was one thing he could bring to the despairing hearts of the Fellowship; he maintained a cheerful disposition, aware that hope was fragile among his companions. As the Men began to force the way through the snow, which was deep enough that it rose breast-high even to the tall Aragorn, Legolas watched them for a while, smiling.

"The strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass of leaf, or over snow-- an Elf!" Legolas sprang forth, running across the drifted snow. He did not sink in the drifts but raced over them, as if he weighed no more than a shaft of light. "Farewell! I go to find the Sun!" He waved to Boromir and Aragorn as he passed them, sliding down the scintillating dunes of ice crystals as if sporting. They could hear his laughter lifting like the misty haze of morning.

"Well," grumbled Gimli, watching the Elf until he disappeared around the rocky turn, "that's the last we'll be seeing of him!"


	23. Chapter 23 As the Elf Runs

**Chapter XXIII **

**As the Elf Runs**

Legolas ran. The world was an unpainted canvas, white and unrelenting, featureless and yet treacherous. Soft his feet fell and they made no mark upon the heaped snow, as if he were but a dream of the drowsing January morning. Still, the slight sound of his breathing, the beating of his heart, even the sleepless movement of his thoughts; these things were magnified and multiplied, causing the fragile bridges of ice and wind-sculpted snow to shiver and thrum like the taunt strings of a lyre answering the tentative questioning caress of the musician.

The sky was grey as stone, eager to send down more wind and sleet, but Legolas ran on undaunted. Eastward beyond the Redhorn Pass and its wintry veil, the Sun climbed, and though he could not see Her face strains of immortal music touched the Elf's ears; the singing of Arien's handmaidens filled his heart with warmth.

He passed by where Boromir and Aragorn toiled, startling them with a merry wave. He laughed after their coarse but good-natured remarks. What use is an Elf for shoveling snow? They would reach their goal no sooner if he stopped to assist them, yet with the virtues of his race Legolas could go forward swiftly and bring back to them a more truly valuable thing; hope.

⌂

Gimli sat close to the hobbits, feeling the chilly disposition of Caradhras beginning to creep into his own bones. The Men were gone, having burrowed through the snow past a turn of rock, so far away that the sounds of their efforts were lost to his ears. Gimli knew that Aragorn would not abandon them; nor would Boromir, for all that he was against the attempting of this route. A rousing chorus of recriminations that Man could have sung, but instead he threw his shoulder into the labour to save them all. Gimli knew no men of Gondor, but if Boromir were an example of the strength and nobility of that race, then even a dwarf might come to regard them with trust.

Under layers of blankets the hobbits lay shivering. Gimli knew himself to be as hearty as the mightiest of dwarves, and as he felt the bite of the cold rather keenly, he knew the suffering of these smaller, softer folk must be great indeed. They did not complain, but merely huddled closer together, and Gimli and Gandalf both stayed close to lend what warmth they could with their breath and bodies.

Legolas had long disappeared, and it rankled Gimli so that he fancied that the glow of his anger might melt the mountainside. Was he too good, that Elf princeling, to huddle in the slush and give comfort to a halfling? Why had he walked so far with the Company-- even attempted to gull Gimli himself with overtures of feigned friendship-- only to abandon them here?

But if this was so, Gimli could not stay the argument from his mind, why did not Legolas go eastward, toward his home beyond the mountain pass covered in snow that hindered him not?

So Gimli held his tongue and brushed ice from his beard and said nothing more aloud concerning the Elf.

The wind had died when the morning had come, so when Gandalf spoke his clouded breath hung as thick and white as his frost-covered beard. "When I was traveling with Bilbo he would often complain that Adventures were bothersome, annoying things, and he would frequently list all the comforts of Bag End that he missed the most. At the time I am afraid I laughed a little, for these discomforts he suffered by were not unbearable to an old wanderer like me. But now I find myself wishing heartily for a seat by the old boy's fire, to be sitting in that too-small chair and puffing on a pipe-full of Old Toby… and I find that the thought of it is indeed comforting to me."

Pippin raised his head, and Merry also. "Old Toby!" they sighed in the same breath, and then they chuckled together even as they shivered. "I'd like some of that, with a s-s-steaming m-mug of tea with a brace of b-brandy poured into it!" Merry said, tugging the edge of his cloak more snuggly around his neck.

"A cup of mulled wine and a loaf of bread fresh from my mother's hearth!" Pippin said wistfully. His lips were tinted with white, and Gandalf took of his silvery scarf and wrapped it warmly around the littlest hobbit's head. "Th-thank you, G-gandalf!" Pippin said, before retreating again beneath the blankets.

The lump that was Sam did not surface, but a muffled voice drifted upward, "Daisy's teacakes, Marigold's stewed mutton, and mum's fried fish and taters..." Frodo chuckled fondly at his words, but said nothing himself.

"What do you miss most, cousin F-frodo?" said Merry.

"E-everyth-thing," Frodo answered. He began then to shake violently.

Gandalf settled closer and drew the blankets back over Frodo's head, then draped his heavy grey cloak over them all.

Gimli reflected on what he missed most. Thoughts of warm food, soft beds, and crackling fireplaces gave way to memories of the glowing, groaning forges of Lonely Mountain, the fall of hammers like the tinkling of the first rain of spring, the hiss of cooling metal, the soft susurrus of the polishing cloth, the whine of the plane, the bark of the chiseler's awl. He heard all those pleasant memories in his head, channeled from his heart. _Those sounds once filled this mountain,_ the thought came suddenly to him; O_nce these peaks echoed with the songs and the lives of many dwarves._

It seemed to Gimli as he entertained these thoughts, that there came a touch of warmth creeping up his legs, as if the stone beneath his boots remembered him, as if the forges that once lived in the heart of Khazad-dum still burned. He strained his ears to hear the hammers ringing, to catch one strain of deep voices singing below the vastness of the Redhorn's stone skin.

A noise did come to him then, but it was not deep dwarvish singing. A light voice, sending a merry ripple of sound sliding across the frozen landscape; the singing of the Elf was carried up to his ears on the still wind and slippery stones. And where once he would have cursed to hear such a sound, now he smiled a little beneath his beard. Something about the sound of it was too joyful to be brooded upon.

⌂

Legolas sighted the end of the snow-cover, well above the line of trees that blanketed the mountains like a furry green garment. Already the air was warmer here, even though the great clouds over Caradhras umbrellaed the sun, he could see her gracing light touching the remote world that stretched beyond the foothills, fading into a golden haze before the hint of grey that suggested the Sea; far, far to the west that body lay, and not even the eyes of Legolas could see that far.

He did not look for it. The voices of the trees called to him with greater temptation than some distant, chilly vast water. He would have liked to feel the Sun touch his face, and for a moment thought he might run forth and seek Her, but he remembered those who he left behind and he turned at once to rejoin to them. The sky above the mountain was almost blue, but not with clear skies. The frowning clouds were bruised and burdened. He could see the threat of more snow becoming a promise.

The journey back up the mountain took longer than the trek downward, for though light and swift as the feet of Elves, the stones were slick and the path steep. Rocks loosened by the freezing air tumbled past him, and many seemed to have been rolled in his path deliberately. Legolas dodged them easily, watching always for a sign of the mischief-maker.

A large boulder grumbled as it tumbled down toward him, and in its wake Legolas spotted him; a large figure, slate-grey as the mountain itself, leaned down to see if his last effort would be rewarded. Legolas reached back for his bow and strung it even as he ran. The wild face disappeared as the Elf halted suddenly and notched an arrow to his string. He drew until the feathers tickled his ear, waiting.

The creature must have seen him, because it did not reappear. Also, the boulders and stones ceased rolling down past Legolas. It seemed that the beast-- whatever it had been-- had given up its sport for the moment. Legolas relaxed his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver, unwilling to waste even one shaft. His bow he left strung and he held it in his hand as he resumed his upward flight.

Legolas approached the great drift that he had slid down with such delight on his descent. Here the snow became much deeper, and Legolas grew concerned, thinking that some sign of Boromir and Aragorn should be seen by now. Agile as a squirrel in the thick boughs of an oak, the Elf climbed nimbly up the mound of snow and walked the knife-sharp crest as easily as if it were a broad path.

On the other side of the drift he saw what he had hoped for; Boromir and Aragorn stood there, at the end of their long path of beaten snow. Both were nearly as white as the piles around them, for all the snow clinging to their clothes and hair. They stood breathing heavily, the clouds of their breath rising slowly and melting. They had taken their path right up to the great drift, but had halted there. Piles of snow had rained down on them as they tried to battle through, nearly burying them both. Their voices carried clearly up to Legolas's hearing.

"Another mountain has appeared behind us!" Boromir exclaimed. "I was sure that this is the way we came, but now I wonder if I was turned about by the darkness and wind. Have we gone amiss?"

"Nay," said Aragorn, shaking his cloak to dislodge the clinging snow, "this way is how we came. But this does seem to be a solid wall through which we have no gate to pass. We might go round, and find a longer but shallower way, or we might try to burrow through. I fear that the weight of this will bury us whole, and I fear also wandering too far from the path and finding an abyss beneath our feet."

Legolas crouched on the lip of the drift and called down to them, saying, "Stray not from your path, Lords of Snow and Ice! Your memory is true, and the barrier before you no match for the strength of two such warriors, for all it is tall enough to make you both feel like halflings."

Aragorn looked up at him, squinting his eyes against the blade of cold air that cut down the mountain. "Look, Boromir! Legolas has returned. Have you brought the Sun to melt our way, or will you this time assist us in digging the path. Extra hands at this time would be welcome!"

"I cannot bring the hope of the Sun to you, Estel. She is far away and quite untroubled by our plight. But this much I can give: this mountain of snow before you is but the width of a rampart, and with a little more vigor and persistence you will win through. Just beyond this drifting wall, you will find the snow much lessened and the path easier."

"Good news, Legolas! That is indeed a welcome message," Boromir said, "but I wonder why you carry your bow strung. Have you seen enemies other than snow and cold stone?"

"It may be that what I saw was no more than stone and ice," Legolas said, and his eyes roved the rising cliffs above them, "and it may be that arrows would do little against them. Still, they have hid their faces and cease their throwing of stones, for now. Mayhap it was but the tenacious light of day that drove them away."

"I would welcome the sight of it, should day come this far up this wretched mountain," grumbled Boromir, flexing his great arms. "Well, get you to another perch, snow-bird. I will bring down this mountain and find the hope you have brought." Together with Aragorn, he fought a way through the towering snow, which tumbled down upon them and caused Legolas to leap clear to the safety of a sturdier mound. The men surfaced quickly, laughing though they were chilled to the bone, and they trod down the snow until it formed a bridge through the drift, a gate through which they could see the promise of Legolas fulfilled. They promptly turned and battled their way back up the mountain, Legolas running swiftly ahead, his feet lightened by the good news he could bear.

⌂

Gimli was dozing lightly, frost coating his beard and helm. He roused suddenly as he heard again the sound of music, light and merry, drifting up the mountain to his ears. He looked up and, before he could stop himself, he gave a bellow of delight, causing the heads of the four hobbits to pop up from beneath their blankets and cloaks to see Legolas running toward them. His feet were sure on the icy drifts as if it were but scooped and piled sand, his cloak billowed out behind him and his face was smiling.

As he appeared clearly on the horizon, a ghost of the wind touched Gimli's face and shook a few flakes of snow loose from the heavy sky. From around the bend along the trail of disturbed snow, Boromir and Aragorn reappeared, labouring back up the path.

Gandalf looked at Gimli over the heads of the halflings, smiling despite the burn of the wind on his face. "A glad sight that is indeed, master Dwarf. Did you truly doubt that he would return?"

Gimli grumbled a little, then he returned the wizard's sharp glance. "It is very fine for one of the Wise, who know instantly the hearts of his companions! Those of us lesser souls must be given proofs before being free in the bestowing of trust."

"Would that I did indeed know instantly who is true of heart and who not," said Gandalf. "There are those among the Wise who can do this, but they are greater in skill than I." Gandalf greeted the Elf as he approached. Legolas's face glowed with good news yet-unspoken.

In a quick aside to the Dwarf, Gandalf said, so that no one else could hear, "Trust earned is not trust freely given, my dear Gimli. Unlock your heart and you will find that it is you who will be rewarded, in the end."


	24. Chapter 24 The Defeat at Redhorn

**Chapter XXIV  
The Defeat at RedHorn**

The hobbits, Gandalf, and Gimli were relieved to hear the news that an escape had been found, forced by mere hands through the snow-choked path. Welcome, too, was the word that the Sun was shining somewhere in the world at that moment, for it was so cold and dark still on the mountain that one could easily forget that warmth and light existed at all. The strong Men returned, and without stopping for longer than the time it took to draw a deep breath, Boromir took up Pippin and set him on his wide shoulders.

Battling through the ice and snow had not daunted the Gondorian prince's will. Though obviously tired, he seemed as pleased and mirthful as Pippin had ever seen him, even in Rivendell. "Hold on to me, Master Peregrin," Boromir exclaimed. "I will need my arms still." He turned at once and swam through the drifts, shoving aside the snow, widening the track further for those who would follow.

Aragorn took Merry, who was far too cold to protest being picked up and clung gratefully to the ranger's back, his fists knotted in Aragorn's travel-coat. As they moved down the slope, Merry looked back toward were Gandalf had remained with his cousin and Sam. "You should t-take F-Frodo first, Strider. He's m--much more important than I."

Aragorn covered Merry's hands with one of his own, a smile breaking on his tired face. "I think that your friends would say that you are not unimportant, Meriadoc. Frodo is safe for now with Gandalf. Besides, I do not think that Sam would wish to wait behind whilst I took his master ahead, and I can carry but one hobbit at a time."

Legolas paced alongside the men as they struggled back down the path, vigilantly watching the snow-burdened cliffs overhead. Elves are the Firstborn children of Middle-earth and through their long lives, winding ever down through myth to history, gain and hone skills that to Men and other races seem almost magical. Legolas sensed that they were being watched; though he did not see the grey faced stone-thrower again, he could feel his presence, or the presence of others. However, no more boulders were hurled at them as they began their slow retreat.

Legolas worried a little about leaving Frodo on the mountain, even for a brief time. Only his complete faith in Mithrandir and the loyalty of Samwise convinced him to remain with Merry and Pippin when they arrived through the snow-gate. The Elf could not carry a hobbit _and_ wield a bow, should it become necessary, and leaving the two young halflings alone was out of the question. Still, he fretted for the others and stood staring back at the mountain toward the shrinking forms of Aragorn and Boromir as they trudged once again back up the treacherous path.

Then a greater realization occurred to the Elf; Legolas remembered the hearty Dwarf was still with Frodo. As unlikable and stubborn as that one could be, the Elf knew that Gimli would do the task that he could not return to perform; the mountain Dwarf would see and hear as sharply as any Elf when sitting on the stone of his ancestral home, and his axe would labour to protect the Companions should battle become necessary.

Somewhat amazed at his own relief in the realization, Legolas turned and joined Merry and Pippin where they sat huddled together, and with mirth and confidence lent them his warmth.

⌂

Of the companions still waiting to descend from the mountain-side, only one seemed reluctant to make the descent. Burdened with extra packs and a muttering Dwarf, Bill the pony shied as Gandalf tried to lead him down the beaten track. Only when Boromir went ahead with Sam clinging to his back would the beast budge. The gentle-hearted hobbit clucked to the pony and coaxed him with encouraging words, until Bill grudgingly obeyed. Aragorn followed with Frodo. They all moved slowly, for the two men were very tired.

Gimli was muttering because he was not happy. How was he to wield his axe if danger crept upon them, perched as he was among the baggage like a sack of flour? He kept his eyes on the ridge of stone above, conscious of malignant eyes upon them.

"Yes, my good Dwarf, I feel them, too," Gandalf said quietly, as Gimli twisted yet again to cast his glance upward. The wizard was walking just ahead of Bill, holding the pony's lead rope. "I think as long as we are leaving their territory, that they will not cause us more harm."

Gimli nodded and let his muttering subside. He hoped that Gandalf was correct, for there would be little any of them could do-- axe, sword, or bow-- against beasts of stone and ice.

Frodo tightened his arms around Aragorn's neck, turning his face out of the buffet of the wind. "W--what is it, Aragorn? What has put Gimli so ill at ease?" Now that they were moving Frodo felt less cold, and he became more aware of his surroundings. "Is there danger that the ice on the cliff will fall on us?"

"I think that is unlikely to happen, Frodo," Aragorn said. "Yet if it does, it would be very bad news for us indeed. Still, the snow will fall whether we would have it do so, or no. It seems better for us to be away from it now. Hold on tightly; we are almost there."

As they passed through the wall of snow through which Boromir and Aragorn had beaten their gate, Frodo saw his two young cousins waiting with Legolas. They were sitting off of the track where the snowdrift blocked most of the wind now howling down the mountain after them. Boromir had just lowered Sam to his feet and Gandalf had halted Bill so that Gimli could dismount, when a rock came bouncing down the mountain-path, narrowly missing Aragorn and Frodo. The soft sighing sweep of snow grew suddenly into a roar of avalanche, and the whole of the cliff-face seemed to detach and fall on the way they had just came. The snowdrift collapsed upon them all like a wave cresting at hightide, and all the companions were buried in the fall. A few stones rained down after the roar had subsided to an echo, chasing down the valley like a grumble of thunder.

⌂

The fall of the cliff seemed to occur in slow motion, and Legolas reacted swiftly. He shouted a warning and covered the small bodies of Merry and Pippin with his own, trying to shield them from the weight of the falling ice. The cold crystal sand filled their eyes and mouths and blacked out the sky. The air was pressed from their lungs as if they were being squeezed.

Legolas fought upward through the freezing drift, each hand full of a hobbit's tunic. He burst though the snow, shaking his head to clear the ice from his face. Merry and Pippin he dragged to the surface, where they coughed and gasped for breath. Looking around, there was only a smooth waste of snow where all their companions had just been standing. Beyond the path only a few feet the void yawned, still gulping the icy wind and falling snow.

Feeling the spurs of panic, Legolas scrambled toward where he had last seen Aragorn and Frodo. Without heed of dignity or practicality, he began to dig, clawing at the snow with his bare hands. Merry and Pippin struggled toward him to help, but before they had moved more than a few feet, Boromir popped out of the drift right in front of them, shocking them into shouts. He had Samwise by the collar and hauled him out of the snow, setting him on top of the flow.

"Stay here!" he commanded, and he burrowed toward where the path had been, toward the now-moving mound that was possibly Gandalf, Gimli, and Bill the pony.

Legolas's desperate hands found the corner of a frozen green cloak, and he redoubled his efforts until he freed Frodo from the snow. The hobbit gasped for air as the Elf uncovered his face, and then the hobbit was suddenly thrust upward, for Aragorn was beneath him, lifting him toward the surface. Legolas took Frodo's hands and helped him free, then reached down and took Aragorn's arm in a firm grip. The man wriggled his way out of the burrow, Frodo tugging on the straps of Aragorn's pack, to help what little he could.

Gimli found air again by holding on to Bill's tail. The little pony did not like being buried in the snow, and he fought his way to the top of the drift with fury and energy that none of the companions (save Sam) would have given his credit for. Gandalf appeared, looking more white than grey with a coating of snow on his garments and beard. He caught Bill's rope before the pony could injure himself, struggling in the deep snow.

"Enough!" Gimli shouted back at the mountain, and the grey faces of cool granite leered down at the companions. There was more ice and snow to fling, but for now, the spirit of Caradhras seemed satisfied that they would not trespass again. "Enough! We are departing as quickly as we may!"

Slowly but eagerly, the companions struggled through the snow; Legolas lifted Pippin and Gandalf took Merry, Gimli still clinging to Bill's thick tail. Only a short way did they have to trek yet, for Legolas had reported truly; not far down the path the snow became quite shallow and passable. But the way up the mountain was now choked with ice, snow, and probably stones as well. There would be no going back that way, even if Spring arrived that day and melted the disposition of Redhorn and its evil-tempered weather.

The hobbits were set upon their feet and they continued on somewhat swifter. Though now they were all weary and sore for their trials, they were eager to get off of the mountain and find a safe place to rest. The place where they had been at the beginning of the previous evening was visible through the now-clear air, and the sun was breaking up the clouds overhead, though little of Her warmth could reach them yet. Down below, in the air between them and the distant glades, circling black dots moved about; the birds were waiting.

They had no choice but to continue down the mountain. Each companion now bore a heavy burden, in addition to their leaden limbs and frozen faces: they had been defeated.


	25. Chapter 25 Wolf Council

_Author's Note: What is the Middle-earth equivalent of the phrase:  
Out of the frying pan and into the fire...?_  
**  
Chapter XXV  
****Wolf Council**

The chill wind chased them down from the mountain, but no other threat accompanied the fellowship as they made their descent. They were all very weary, but moved on slowly while the grey light lasted, looking for a place to rest that would offer them some shelter against the coming night.

Legolas walked at the rear, his ears and eyes still open for any sign of a threat. The icy claws of panic he had felt, after the avalanche had released him, but now his nerves were on a knife's edge. He groped after the memory of the sunlight on distant fields to warm his spirit as he walked, hoping that it would last through the night until he could look upon Her face again. Somehow, the portent of this night seemed more threatening and darker than any he remembered, and even the memories of two millennia of sunrises was insufficient to lighten the wood elf's soul.

Legolas had lived with dangers all his life, dwelling in the deep forest of Mirkwood where the beautiful trees were home to creatures such that hobbits and men might regard as legends or myths. Many times he had faced death or pain, but always his trust in himself and his ability had brought him through.

But this was different; he was far from the familiar trees, far from aid or solace. And his companions were not Elves, but men and halflings and a dwarf, and they had all just narrowly escaped death. Freezing, falling, being crushed by stones or tripped into the void-- it mattered not that Legolas did not fear these things for himself. The further they moved from the peak, the better Legolas felt, though there was still a nagging anxiety plucking at his senses. He shook his head; he was wearier than he had been for many long years!

Ahead of him, Pippin lagged behind the rest of the group. The littlest halfling stumbled, seeming unaware of the tears of exhaustion leaking down his cheeks. Legolas moved to his side and offered his hands to him. Pippin took one of his hands; he could not have stood back up without the Elf's support.

Legolas dropped down on one knee beside him. "We still have a short ways to go, Master Peregrin. If you will consent I will carry you. Surely Gandalf will find a place for us to rest soon."

"Please," Pippin's voice was a mere whisper, "I don't want to slow everyone down further. But you are tired, too, Legolas; do not carry me, but if you don't mind I could use the guidance of your hand in this growing darkness."

Legolas held firm to Pippin's hand as they walked, and indeed the halfling grew steadier and did not stumble again. Their shorter paces drew them apart from the rest of the company, but only by a few yards. Gandalf looked back but said nothing. Sam was clinging to Bill's rope, muttering under his breath. Merry walked on one side of the pony's flank, keeping one hand on Bill's warm, thick coat to steady himself. Frodo was walking with his head bowed, and Aragorn stayed near him, making sure that the weary halfling did not stagger off of the path. Boromir and Gimli walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The wizard led them down the path toward a hillock where some trees made a crowning silhouette before the last embers of sunset.

Pippin looked up at his tall companion. The Elf's warm hand heartened him, and feeling a measure of his former cheerfulness come back over him, he said, "I am very tired, but I am glad that we are away from that place! I don't think that any of us hobbits would have lasted much longer up there on that mountain. Thank you for pulling us out of the snow. And for finding Frodo."

Legolas glanced down at Pippin and gave him a touch of a smile. "I did but a small part, Master Peregrin. Give your thanks rather to Boromir and Aragorn, whose strength made the way of escape possible."

"Oh, but you did a lot, too!" Pippin tried to walk quicker, but the effort made him puff for breath. Legolas slowed their steps again. "You did a lot," Pippin continued, when he had caught his wind again. "You came back! And when you spoke of seeing the sun, it was like I could see it, too. I wanted to go and see it, and that gave me strength to try harder. I wish the sun could have stayed up a little longer. It was nice to see after all that snow and darkness."

Legolas had been listening to the wind's hinting murmur, but something that the hobbit said had caught his attention. "Of course I returned." Legolas cocked his head and looked closely at Pippin's face. "Did you truly think that I would not?"

"I hoped that you would. I was afraid when Strider and Boromir went down the path-- that something would happen to them that they couldn't come back." Pippin lowered his voice. His face was reddened by the burn of the wind, but Legolas noted that there was also a flush of shame there. "I wanted to be brave... to help Frodo... but I was scared. And when you left, too, I was afraid that you wouldn't come back. Gimli seemed to think that we would see you no more."

At Pippin's words, the small glow of warmth within Legolas seemed to go out, like an unshielded candle-flame in a draft. He said nothing, letting Pippin chatter on softly as they walked, keeping a steadying grip on his small hand, but his mind was churning with emotions reawakened.

So the Dwarf had thought he would abandon the Quest, just because of a little snow and ice? How dare he say so!

But hand in hand with his anger came another feeling, that nagging doubt of self that recalled the failings of his duties. 'It is right that they do not trust you, Legolas,' said a nagging voice in his mind. 'Did you not let Smeágol escape? What of your word to your King-father?'

A wave of miserable despair crept over the Elf's heart when he thought of Thranduil. How he would like to speak to him at this time and touch his wisdom once more!

Something of Legolas's distress must have shown on his face. Pippin fell silent and clutched his hand, drawing Legolas to a halt. The halfling must have realized that he had said something to cause upset, because he looked the Elf straight in the eye and said, "Don't be mad at us, Legolas. We were just afraid. We all show our fear differently; that is what Cousin Bilbo told me once. He said that fear can freeze you or fire you up; freeze you in place so you can't do anything, or fire you up so that you can do what you never thought you could. It was just so cold up on that mountain that we were freezing instead of firing. I feel better now," he added softly, as if he hoped that would cheer Legolas again.

Legolas looked down at him, this time in surprise. He could sense something-- something light as the touch of a sunbeam on the face and gentle as the taste of pollen on the wind-- and it was emanating from the halfling walking at his side. His despair was reduced in an instant and a smile came to his tired face. Pippin grinned up at him and began to walk forward again, but his toes caught on a stone in the path.

Legolas caught him as he tripped, then swung him up onto one of his shoulders in a smooth, fluid motion. "Can you keep a secret, my chattering halfling friend?" he said.

"I can. I promise!" Pippin whispered eagerly, taking delight that he must look down to see Legolas's face.

"I was afraid, too," the Elf confessed.

"But— you are never afraid! You ran right through that avalanche to save Merry and me!"

"I have been afraid many times," Legolas said. "In Imladris I feared for your cousin's life, for I have no skills in healing and could do nothing to help. And up on the pass I felt fear again, because no matter how swift I can run or how true my arrows my fly, I could not hold back the wind and snow." Legolas rolled his shoulder so that Pippin was bounced upward lightly, causing the halfling to emit a slight giggle. "So I am glad to have come down from the mountain, too. And I am glad that I brought you up out of the snow, for I have grown fond of your cheerful disposition, Peregrin Took. You lighten my heart."

He lifted the halfling down gently, setting him on his own feet again, and they continued to walk after the others, still hand in hand, through the growing dusk.

⌂

Gandalf led them to the base of a hill, where they all slumped down to rest their aching feet and legs. It was a few moments before anyone moved at all; they sat and breathed and stared up at the darkening sky, or down at the ground below their feet. Gandalf brought out his leathern flask and passed it around once again. The light flavour of the _miruvor_ brought some life back to them, and the hobbits realized how hungry they were. They took out some of the food they carried and broke their fast as the stars appeared meekly in the clearing sky.

Now came the time for talk, and once again anxiety settled on Legolas. He listened to Gandalf's words and although he trusted the Wizard's counsel, the Elf's heart shuddered when mention was made of taking the road through Moria. Not once had that possibility entered his mind, when he had sat in Rivendell musing on this journey. The Redhorn pass, the Gap of Rohan, even the long southern journey along the wide coast of the Bay of Belfalas he had considered, but never the Black Pit!

There is a deep pool of thought that Elves draw their wisdom from, and in that pool are memories that belong to another time, to others who lived long ago when the shape of Middle-earth was other than it is now. Dark things stirred in the fathoms of Legolas's mind while he listened to the others speak of the Dwarrowdelf. _The doors are shut! They will not open!_ Black fire swept the land and an entire city of Elves was destroyed. Beyond the granite walls of Moria the Dwarves remained safe; they came not to the aid of the Elves... not even to bury the dead.

Legolas blinked, realizing that Boromir had said his name aloud. The debate had reached a vote: Who would follow Gandalf if he led them to Moria's hidden gate and into the darkness therein?

Gimli, of course, was eager to go; he believed in his heart that he would find word there of his cousin Balin. Aragorn agreed to try, but his acquiescence was coloured by a warning most dire—a warning for Gandalf himself. Boromir was against entering Moria, and the hobbits were all reluctant, but only two had spoken against that road; Frodo and Merry had said nothing yet.

Legolas could feel the eyes of the company upon him. Softly and without raising his head, he said, "I do not wish to go to Moria." The feelings of fear inside him were blinding, and he felt as vulnerable and helpless as he had ever felt, not since he was a child a very long time ago. He did not want to go that way, and yet there was no other way to go. They could not approach the Fords of Isen, and the other road was too long and would take them even further from what little aid there was to be found.

Legolas watched a similar struggle take place on Frodo's face, for as Ring-Bearer the burden of the final decision was his. Coupled with his other burden, it was a heavy weight indeed. Legolas did not envy Frodo nor did he resent the Bearer's desire to postpone the vote until morning, when after sleep other paths might be seen more clearly.

Wrapped in these thoughts, Legolas slowly became aware of a noise. He stiffened even as Frodo made mention of the howling of the wind. Aragorn leapt to his feet, a fraction faster than the Elf. "'How the wind howls'? It is howling with wolf-voices. The Wargs have come west of the Mountians!"

Now the companions were beset by another dire danger, but instead of dread or panic such as he had experienced upon the snows of Caradhras, Legolas felt a wave of determination and strength return to him. His bow felt good in his hands, the string taunt and ready to sing. His eyes were sharp and his weariness fell from him like an unneeded cloak. Here was an enemy that could be fought with skill and with courage. Fear left him, for he had no room for it in his heart at a time such as this.


	26. Chapter 26 The Wolf One Hears

**Chapter XXVI  
****The Wolf One Hears**

Legolas took first watch after the companions moved their camp to the crown of the hill. As the hobbits, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gandalf built a fire and sat dozing uneasily around it, the Elf and the Dwarf stood at the edges of the circle of broken stones, keeping their eyes open for any sign of the wolves.

Legolas had found again his calm strength, but in the uneasy quiet of the watch a thought came to assail him. He had not heard or smelled the wolves as he should have done. Even now, he could not sense them as he ought. He strained into the night, wishing (not for the last time) that he had the gift that would allow him to see in the darkness. Something seemed to be blunting his ears, muddling his mind with doubt and shadows. He drew an arrow from his quiver, though it was too dark for shooting; he tested the tip of the metal point on his finger, pleased that he could feel its razor-like sharpness. At least not all his senses had failed!

A dark shape moved toward him through the darkness. Legolas could tell by the sound of his tread that it was Boromir. The man came to the Elf's side and said quietly, "Can you see anything, Legolas? This night is as dark as if we were already underground!"

"I see little beyond the fire's light," Legolas replied, "and the thought of being underground brings me no comfort. Do not speak of it unless you must! I do not like the feeling that we are being herded into a dark trap."

Boromir's face was dark to Legolas's eyes, standing as he was with his back toward the fire. The burnished bronze metalwork on his shield shimmered with reflected flame. Legolas heard the man release a pent breath, his voice very soft as he spoke. "This very thought plagues me also. I have heard well the words of Gandalf and accept that the road through Rohan is perilous to us, still I do not understand the need to go to these dangerous mines. There is peril on any road we choose. What we must ask ourselves is this: what is the best hope we have to fight through? In Rohan we can find allies. What hope have we of aid in Moria? No word has come from Gimli's folk for many years—that would seem to me to be even more evidence that Moria should be avoided."

When Legolas did not respond, Boromir turned toward him. The glow from the fire lit the proud bones in his face, making his beard seem as though it were shot through with sparks. "It is not my purpose to argue the counsel of Gandalf, but to find understanding within myself. I value hearing your own thoughts on this matter, Legolas."

Legolas nodded, letting his eyes sweep the dark grounds for movement. "Should you find comfort in understanding, do please share it with me. I will follow the Ring-Bearer where he must go, but I feel that in Moria I shall not rest from worry, nor shall my bow ever be unstrung or far from my hand." He rolled the smooth arrowshaft in his fingers as he concentrated on the night. "The wolves argue Mithrandir's case very well, I find. We will not elude them for long on foot, nor will they listen to comforting speculations."

Boromir turned to face the darkness, listening for a long moment. Legolas noticed that the man stood in a state of alert readiness, weight forward and balanced on the balls of his feet. Every movement of his told a tale to the Elf; here was a trained and seasoned warrior, ready at a moment's warning, to do battle, or to speak, or to perform any needed feat. He was as taunt as the string that drew Legolas's bow, and his mind was ever moving behind that practiced calm.

After a time, Boromir let a chuckle escape his lips. "_Mithrandir._ It is good to hear you call him so; Lord Mithrandir I have in all my days heard him named; Gandalf must be a northern title. How my brother used to talk about him, back in the season our youth! Often he came to Minas Tirith in those days, to read the dusty scrolls in the Great Library or to delve in the Room of Artifacts. I spent little time in his company, having my duties in the Guard to attend to, but Faramir was often in his presence." Boromir's voice softened in the Elf's ears when he spoke that name. "Have you any brothers, Legolas?" he asked suddenly.

"I have not," the Elf answered. "Kinsmen near to my father I have, and many companions as close to my heart as my own name, but none with whom I share a blood-binding such as you have with your brother."

Boromir looked at him sharply. "What do you mean, 'blood-binding'?"

"At the Council of Elrond you spoke of dreams you shared with your brother." Boromir nodded. "This is not common among your folk; it is rare even among Elves. To dream the dreams of another is a closer kinship even than that of siblings. Only in one other instance have I heard of such a thing, and those brothers shared their mother's womb. They think each other's thoughts, though their dispositions are very individual..." Now Legolas smiled, remembering the sons of Elrond with whom he had spent much time. Would that Elladan and Elrohir could be here now! Greatly would Legolas's mind be relieved to have their wisdom and skillful arms at hand!

The corner of Boromir's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Sometimes I feel that I know what my brother is doing... what he is thinking. I know it is truly my own wish, to be home again and in his company. Our times together were always too few, too short. It will be good to get home again, after..."

Boromir did not finish his sentance, but nodded toward the darkness. His body had come wholly alert as he spoke, and Legolas had seen them in the same instant. Dark shapes were moving stealthfully up the hill. Here and there came the shine of animal eyes, throwing back the firelight like eerie coins. Legolas raised his closed fist, sending a warning to the rest of the companions. Behind him, Gimli gave a hoot like a owl; he had seen or sensed something on his side of the hill also. Gandalf stood and looked toward the place where Legolas and Boromir stood watching, near the break in the circle of stones. Aragorn moved swiftly to stand beside Gimli.

One large beast came almost to the gap in the stone circle. It was a huge wolf-shape, and it paused at the very edge of the spill of firelight, looking at them. Beyond his shadow Legolas could see the hint of other creatures, farther away but waiting, watching. His fingers itched on his bow, notched and ready. And now that he could see this beast, perhaps not clearly but well enough to mark it, he realized why he had been taken by surprise and not warned his companions earlier. This beast may look like a wolf, but Legolas was sure that it was not! The smell from its rank hide was not as it should be, nor was the light from its eyes correct for a predator of the world. Malign intellect there was behind that lumionous regard, and Legolas could feel the darkness pressing in around their camp; a cold thought from a cold mind that held no hunger and no fear of fire.

_There is sorcery here,_ thought Legolas. He flexed his fingers around his bow, comforted by the familar creak from the wood and the silken touch of the feathers with which it was fletched. He would wait until he was ready to fire before he drew; an over-stretched bow cost a marksman accuracy. He wondered if a wooden shaft and a steel barb would do any harm to these beasts, canny and unnatural as they were. He stood steadfast, giving no ground and listening for Gandalf's words, hoping that the Wizard knew a way to fight these creatures.

Behind him and beyond the fire, Legolas heard the whisper of Aragorn's sword sliding from its sheath. Legolas bent his bow, drawing his arrow back until the fletchings brushed his ear.

⌂

Frozen, windburned, packed like a sack of flour and then half-drowned by an avalance, Gimli had not given the Elf much thought at all since that moment of unguarded relief, when he had seen him come back bearing his messages of hope to those still snow-bound in the Redhorn pass. Now he stood peering into a night as black as any hopeless dream, and he pondered his annoyances.

Nothing had gone well since they had left the dell the morning before. Gimli felt tired, as tired as if he had been swinging his axe all day and night; and the fact that he had done nothing but climb up a mountain and down again rankled even more; he had felt utterly useless during the whole ordeal. He hadn't even been able to light the fire to warm the fellowship!

The only thing that had gone right was that finally they were agreed that the company must attempt to cross beneath the mountains. Gandalf knew how to find the hidden West Gate, lore that had been lost to Gimli's folk for many generations. When the companions had come wandering down through the snow, the Dwarf had given up any hope of entering Moria. Now it was going to happen-- had to happen, as it was their best hope of escaping from the notice of the Enemy.

Gimli only wished he could make the others see the hope and excitement he felt. In most of their faces he saw only dread, and in others, resentment. Legolas had disappointed him when the Elf had said that he did not wish to go to Moria. Gimli had held his breath as the vote had leaned away from him and Gandalf. Now necessity had made up everyone's mind, and Gimli concealed his delight, realizing that a display would be very unseeming. There was no need to mention it aloud, and indeed to make light of it in the midst of a siege would win him only his companions' distain and perhaps their mistrust. Nobody is happy to be surrounded by wolves!

It was oddly comforting to finally have something that he could fight with his axe, he reflected as he let out his call of warning; Gimli appreciated that strength, perserverance, and fortitude were essencial and desirable qualities, but having a solid, clearly identifyable enemy and room to plant his feet and swing his axe... well! This was what he had come on this Quest to do!

Aragorn appeared at his side as Gimli noted more shadows appearing along the crown of the hill. None of them came within the faint circle of the firelight, just the sounds of an occasional whine or throaty growl. The shining eyes winked in the gloomy darkness.

Bill let out a whinny of fear. The poor pony was sweating and shaking, and it was all Sam could do to calm him and keep him from bolting out of the firelight and into greater danger. The other halfings stood close to the fire, holding their swords nervously and looking around. Sting shone like a small white torch in Frodo's hand.

Suddenly the great wolfish thing that had crept close loosed a shuddering howl, and Gandalf came forward holding his staff aloft. In a broad voice he said, "Listen, Hound of Sauron! Gandalf is here. Fly if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout if you come within this ring."

The wolf snarled and sprang toward them in a great leap. There came a sharp twang! the same moment that its bunching muscles propelled it into the air. Then there came a yell that was not a howl, but more like the agonized and furious cry of a man, and then the shape thudded to the earth. Legolas's arrow had pierced it through the throat.

The surrounding eyes were suddenly extinguished. Gandalf and Aragorn went outside the circle, but the hill was deserted. The night grew silent; even the wind held its breath.

Boromir placed a booted foot on the wolf's head, withdrawing the arrow with a strong wrench. "Good shooting," he said, handing Legolas the gory shaft. "This might be needed again." Then he hooked his foot beneath the corpse and rolled it over with a kick. "This is like no wolf I have ever seen before. They must be very hungry to come so close to a fire."

Gandalf came back, and his face was stern with care. "These are not wolves such as you find in the world, Boromir. We must be ready if they return, and yet we must rest while we can. Our only hope is to reach the gates of Moria tomorrow, and we are all tired. You and Aragorn should take some rest now while the hobbits and I take watch... yes, you also, Legolas!" The wizard's voice twinkled with a hint of mirth as he said, "We need our warriors rested. Let the little ones do what they may," he added softly, forestalling Legolas's protest that he needed no sleep.

The Elf nodded, seating himself against the stone just inside the ring to take his rest. The broken granite felt oddly comfortable.


	27. Chapter 27 Doors That Are Hidden

**Chapter 27  
The Doors That Are Hidden**

"No, I haven't forgotten about you, my dear Dwarf," Gandalf said softly, as the Hobbits split up to watch at each point of the circle, peering through cracks between the broken teeth of stone. "If you are not yet weary beyond movement, help me gather as much fuelwood as we can find, to have ready if needed. In this place and at this time, fire is truly our friend."

"Aye, Gandalf," Gimli said. "Not a few times have my people been faced with Wargs. Fire and steel will dissuade them. But we must be wary; they will not give up their hunt like normal wolves."

"I agree, and that is why we must be ready. Stack the wood next to the fire here, and then see if you can rest for a few hours." Gandalf then moved away, picking up the dry limbs that were laying beneath the trees.

"I'll rest when the dark stone of Moria is my bier and blanket," Gimli muttered. Since Gandalf didn't turn, Gimli assumed that the old wizard had not heard him.

◘

Frodo stood near the gap in the stones, staring out into the night. The light from the waning moon silvered the hills and cast vague figures that tricked the eyes. The mountains were an invisible black mass that blotted out the stars until they were nigh directly overhead. A few clouds straggled toward the west, lighting up when they crossed the path of the moon and then fading to grey veils that made the stars look fuzzy and indistinct.

Frodo shivered; the wind was slowly returning, bringing a memory of the coldness of the Redhorn pass to the weary hobbit. After a time his eyes adjusted more to the lightlessness, and he could make out dimly the features of the land, as though the moon had become brighter somehow. He could clearly see that there were no wolves nearby, at least on his side of the hill.

Legolas sat nearby and for once his eyes were closed as he rested, his head back against the stone. His bow was still in his hand and planted in the earth like a weird flower was the arrow-shaft that Boromir had fetched back to him.

Frodo glanced at the Elf and felt a measure of his anxiety move away from him. At the barest word from him, Frodo knew that Legolas would be alert and at his side. It pleased him that he could watch for a while so that the brave warriors could rest; Boromir and Aragorn had laboured hard to bring them down the mountain and must surely be exhausted. He had never seen Legolas (or any Elf) so weary that they could sleep against a sharp rock.

Frodo returned his gaze to the hills, occasionally checking the blade of Sting for any glimmer of warning. When the Wargs had come before, it had shone with a whitish light. Bilbo had told him that it shone blue when orcs and gobblins were near, and he remembered the stories that his uncle had told of battling the spiders in Mirkwood.

At the thought of Mirkwood, Frodo turned and looked at Legolas again, remembering that that Forest was his home. He started when he realized that the Elf had opened his eyes and was watching him.

Legolas spoke softly, "I can tell by the way you stand that all is well for the now. It is difficult to rest so, but I feel the need of it sorely."

Frodo gave a short bow to the Elf. "All is quiet, for the moment. I see nothing among the hills nearby, nor along the ridge from where we came down from the mountain. Perhaps the wolves will not return tonight."

Legolas lifted an eyebrow, reminding Frodo of Lord Elrond for a second. "Can you see that far? Even in the moonlight I could barely make out that distance. The eyes of halflings are sharp indeed!"

Frodo smiled a little, wanting to feel flattered but in fact he was uneasy. He thought it strange that he could see even as well as an Elf. He said nothing of it, turning his face toward the darkness to hide his disquiet.

The hours passed slowly. Gandalf roused the warriors halfway toward morning, letting the halfings gather back around the fire, where they fell asleep almost at once. Gimli nodded nearby, keeping on eye on the fire so that it did not burn too low. The wizard lay down as well, his eyes glittering darkly in half-lidded sleep, his hand upon his staff.

The sky had only just begin to hint at the possibility of morning when the attack came. Howls broke out all around the company, jerking Gandalf and the hobbits from sleep. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas had all withdrawn into the circle, for in their hearts they believed that the Wargs had not abandoned the hunt, and they were ready.

The wolves spilled over the circle of stones like grey water. The companions were entirely surrounded, and they formed a tight knot around the halflings, the fire blazing up in the centre. Some of these brute wolves were large enough to carry off one of the hobbits, should they get close enough to close their teeth upon them. Legolas drew and released, accounting a wolf for every shot fired. He ducked under one leaping beast and threw it into the heart of the fire, scattering embers. The creature screamed and ran away into the night, its fur flaming and leaving a trail of burning grasses.

Boromir struck the head off of one wolf, then brought his sword back around to impale another. A third leapt in and closed its teeth on his arm, but was foiled by the tough leather braces that the Gondorian warrior wore. The stubborn beast did not let go, and Boromir swung it around and hurled it against a large stone. There came a horrid cracking noise that was the beast's back breaking. The wolf slumped to the ground.

Anduril caught the firelight like a brand, passing smoothly through one wolf that was trying to attack the hobbits. Pippin and Frodo were standing back to back, their swords out and held upright before their faces. Sam and Merry was throwing wood on the fire, but suddenly Bill let out a wild neigh as two wolves came bristling and growling toward him. Sam tried to run to help him, but Merry caught his arm and held him back.

It was well, because Bill did not need Sam's help at that moment. Backing up against a large stone, the pony flattened its ears and lowered its head. One of the wolves snapped at Bill while the other circled around to the side. Bill lashed out with a hoof and crushed the skull of the first wolf, then plunged into a buck and slammed both rear hooves into the second, sending it flying over the circle of stones and out into the darkness.

Gandalf walked out to meet the wolves, and he seemed to grow and become awesome and frightening. Words came from his lips that were strange, and the ears of Legolas burned with the incantation.

_Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!_

Gandalf picked up a burning brand from the fire and his hand was not scorched, but he tossed the torch into the air and it burst into brilliant light, igniting the treetops that crowned the hill. The air seemed to catch fire, and the wolves fled in panic, their hides smoking and burning as they ran. The wolf-chief snarled and howled, trying to rally the pack again to attack. Legolas aimed his last arrow and released it. It kindled in midair and plunged into the wolf's heart.

Smoke from the fire then blinded the companions, and the bitter fumes make their eyes blink and water. When the fires had died out and the smoke cleared, they found that morning had occurred, and the wolves were gone. All that was to be found on the singed hillside were the arrows of Legolas, lying in the grass undamaged; save for one that was burned entirely away except for the point.

Gandalf spoke earnestly, "We must reach the doors before sunset, or I fear we shall not reach them at all."

Boromir picked up the arrowhead and handed it to Legolas. "I do not know which to hope," the Man said grimly, "that Gandalf will find what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the gates lost for ever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance. Lead on!" In a low voice that was meant only for Legolas to hear, he added, "Perhaps then will my counsel be regarded with less contempt!"

Legolas took the arrow-tip and closed his fingers around it. He said nothing, but turned his head as Aragorn approached them.

The Ranger placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "Do not think that your counsel is not regarded, Boromir. For you we have nothing but respect, but the wolves have contempt for us all. Trust in the guidance of Gandalf. He would not lead us there if he had no hope of our coming through."

Boromir nodded once, sharply. He shouldered his pack and joined the Wizard and the hobbits who were already pacing down the hill. Aragorn clapped Legolas on the arm, offering him a dark smile. "Very good shooting, my friend!"

Legolas regarded the arrow-tip Boromir had returned to him, displaying it to the Ranger on his palm. "What manner of beasts disappear with the sunlight, leaving behind the arrows that should have slain them? My years in Middle-earth can be measured long, yet never have I heard of such a thing. The Wargs such as I have fought in Mirkwood remain dead when they are killed and do not fade like mist in the morning!"

Aragorn motioned for Legolas to walk beside him. They fell in at the end of the column, following after the grey wizard. "Have you heard tales in your forest home of the one they called Gaurhoth?"

Legolas looked askance at Aragorn, a frown darkening his fair face. "I have heard no such tale, though I shudder at the sound of the name you speak. What does it mean?"

"That is the name by which Sauron was known, back in the First Age of the Sun. He was known as the Lord of Werewolves, and he himself took shape of a wolf when he slew Lord Finrod of Nargothrond as he sought to aid Beren in his quest."

"You do not comfort me with this tale, Aragorn," said Legolas, "though I am sure that was not your intent. Why do you tell me this now?"

Aragorn shook his head a little, causing his dark hair to fall into his eyes. He pushed it back, and Legolas saw that his hands were stained with the dark blood of the wolves. It covered his sword which he carried naked at his side; he would not sheath it when it was fouled with evil blood.

"I am not sure why I speak of it now, except that the tale is forward in my mind. Perhaps you might take some comfort in knowing that, even though Felegund fell in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Beren eventually prevailed and, with the aid of Lúthien succeeded in capturing one of the jewels from Morgoth's crown. Sauron was but a lieutenant to the Enemy then, and he was at that time bested by the mighty hound Huan."

Legolas pondered Aragorn's words as they walked. Indeed, it was good to know that even a mighty being like Sauron could be bested by a dog, even though it was an unusual and special dog indeed.

They moved as quickly as they could, ignoring weariness in their desire to find sanctuary from the dangerous night. Gandalf nearly despaired finding the path until Gimli pointed out the old riverbed, now nearly dry and choked with growth of weed and briar. This depressing sight nevertheless quickened their journey, for beside the rivercourse that had been the Sirannon could be seen the crumbling remains of an ancient highway, leading toward their goal. They took their midday meal on their legs, pausing only briefly, then went on their way again. The sun was past zenith and the day was getting on.

Finally they found the stairs, climbing quickly up the cliff beside the broken remains of the aqueduct that had once served water to the Sirannon. Gimli climbed swiftly up the steps, his heart beating with thunderous delight to be walking where his ancestors once tread. Gandalf and Frodo followed, and so they three witnessed how the river had been dammed and the noxious lake created to bar the path.

Now their route was dictated to the longer way, around the winding road and up to the walls of Moria, to walk the thin strip of earth between the towering stone and the noisome, oily black water. Though they hurried on, the day faded and the stars came glimmering forth, reflecting flatly in the unfriendly water. The moon was caught up on a net of clouds, but gave some illumination to the company as they searched for signs of the secret door.

Gimli's enthusiasm was undaunted. He walked ahead with Gandalf, pausing every few feet to caress the stone with his hands, knowing he could be touching the Door itself and never know. The Dwarven smiths of old were Masters, able to conceal their works with a skill that seemed magical. He felt in his bones that they were getting close, and not even the doubt that weighed down the spirits of the others in the fellowship could burden his delight.

Legolas walked behind the Dwarf, for Aragorn had directed him to remain within the heart of the company, should his bow become useful either forward or behind. The Ranger followed all the companions save Sam, who trailed behind with Bill in tow. As they reached the turn that took them all along the high wall around the edge of the pool, something disturbed the still water, sending ripples out from the center of the lake to lap softly along the narrow shore. Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it, peering out at the lake for a sign of movement. The last rays of the sunset faded behind the clouds, foiling his sight.

Gimli turned to look at the Elf, then returned to his investigation of the stone face. "Surely we will find the western door soon, my Elven friend. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed, but I have faith that Gandalf can find them."

Legolas said nothing, but followed the Dwarf with his eyes still on the water. The sound of merriment in Gimli's voice did not lighten his heart. They had come to a place in the water where twisted shapes of drowned trees reached up to claw the star-filled sky. They had been a fine grove at one time, and their pales shapes drifting in the water were to Legolas like bleaching bones scattered in the wasted liquid. How had this happened? Who had dammed the river, causing this unnatural pond? Only a few years had these trees been rotting in the water. Had this Balin of which Gimli so often spoke ordered their deaths? In his heart, Legolas felt again cold resentment toward the Dwarves. They had such disregard for such things as trees, to be hewn down and burned to fuel their forges, or even foundered and cut off from the sun and life. Legolas kept his face turned from the wall of Moria.

They arrived at last at a place where Gandalf called a halt. He stood before a stretch of stone braced between two ancient holly trees, his face showing his satisfaction; he had found the place where the gate should be. "Well, here we are at last," he said. "Here are Elven-way from Hollin ended. Holly was the token of the people of that land, and they planted it here to mark the end of their domain; for the West-door was made chiefly for their use in their traffic with the Lords of Moria. Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship at times between folk of different race, even between Dwarves and Elves."

"It as not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli defensively.

"I have not heard that it as the fault of the Elves," answered Legolas coolly.

"I have heard both," said Gandalf; "and I will not give judgment now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both. The doors are shut and hidden, and the sooner we find them the better. Night is at hand!"

Gimli and Legolas looked at each other. Their gaze touched and slid away, Legolas to the mighty trees that pillared the cliff-face, Gimli to the stone itself. As much trust as they both placed in Gandalf, it seemed to them that at this time he asked a very great deal. But the night was indeed upon them, and any moment down the sound of wolf-voices might ring out through the darkness.

They swallowed their grievance and examined the riddle of the gate; Gandalf was right: the fellowship could not afford them time for an argument now.


End file.
